


You, me, and my mom Think about it, Sherlock

by Carolineangel31



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Epic Bromance, Eventual Relationships, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, Friendship, Kid Fic, Loss of Parent(s), Parent-Child Relationship, Romance, Sherlock Holmes Has Feelings, Sherlock Holmes Has a Heart, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-24
Updated: 2018-09-02
Packaged: 2018-09-26 16:20:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 29,119
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9910910
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Carolineangel31/pseuds/Carolineangel31
Summary: I need to buy a father to my friend...  She shakes her head. "He just wants his father to be a pirate" The girl emphasis.  “It´s hard to find one in London.” The little girl said. And from that moment all his life changed. There is no turning back. Once Sherlock know this boy, nothing will be the same.Someone once told Sherlock that the person who would change his life completely would come with time. He always thought it would be an adult, but he is now beginning to believe otherwise.





	1. One

**Author's Note:**

> They asked me if I could modify one of my stories, and write something about Sherlock.
> 
> It's a really hard fandom. So I hope this story is to everyone's liking. Give it a chance, 
> 
> I wrote with love.
> 
> Here we go.
> 
> Kisses and hugs.  
> Disclaimer: I don´t own Sherlock.

**Life takes us along paths that we did not expect, leads to unplanned roads because at the end leads to where it is supposed belong.**

  
Someone once told him that the person who would change his life completely would come with time. The person has not. She has not appeared. And Sherlock Holmes is not a patient person anymore. He does what he wants when he wants.  
  
But everything is about to change in a way that he does not expect.  
  
"Do not tell me we're running away from Lestrade's office, because there are 20 more people to interview with lame cases" John rolls his eyes.  
  
"No of course not." He adds innocently while he looks out the taxi window. "I needed a break."  
  
"Clearly," John complements sarcastically. "It's not easy to interview 50 people in two days. Not to mention the 30 participants who you have resigned in recent weeks. "  
  
Sherlock broke into a laugh.  
  
"Give me some credit John. These persons were terrible; there was nothing I could do".  
  
"You are incredible sometimes," John whispers.  
  
"The fate of the genius". He smiles then looks over to see the expression of disbelief in the face of his best friend.  
  
"Your ego will crush one of these days."  
  
"Do not count on it “Sherlock replies coming out of the taxi.  
  
"The world news is disgusting," John states passing the pages of the newspaper, as they arrive at the entrance of his apartment.  
  
"So, I don't believe in anybody anyway" Sherlock speaks.  
  
"Only in yourself?" John points out quickly to Sherlock and laughs.  
  
He is ready to start laughing when the voice of a small girl interrupts him.  
  
"Hello Mr. Holmes" greets the little girl with blue eyes. "Is it true that you can help anyone in a case? Her gaze is tender.

Sherlock blinks, and then scowls. "Yes."

"You search anything that a person wants to get?" She asks gently as her hands brush her dress with yellow and pink flowers.  
  
The man next to him smiles, funny with the little girl in front of them. "Yes, little girl. Do you want something?" John asks.

"A father" The girl says.   
  
Silence.  
  
"I need to buy a father for my friend, that boy over there," She said pointing to a corner in the street.  
  
The two men look with curiosity; he is a child of about five years old, cute face with green eyes. Small freckles spread all over his face and his hands are occupied with two action figures.

Sherlock does not know what to make of that.  
  
"Honey" John begins.  
  
"We have made a list of things that we would like his dad to have" she interrupts him by reading a white sheet with some written words on it.   
  
"I think that he should be fun, friendly, brave, adventurous ...  
  
Silence. No one dares to say anything to the little blonde girl, whose face lights up while still describing the perfect dad.  
  
"I have a couple of coins. But I can get more" She declares firmly.  
  
John's hearts shrink with her words.

“I think is possible, a few years ago, you could buy a child in sudamerica.”  He narrow his eyes at John.   

"Eh" questions somewhat confused, the plans of her unruly friend were always doubtful.

“Maybe now we can search for a father. That´s very interesting, Mycroft have a friend…

John made a noise of disapproval.  
  
The girl looks at both with a raised eyebrow and a grimace. "It is very urgent. My friend really needs a dad today. "  
  
"Why is it so important to get one today?" Asks a confused Sherlock.  
  
She holds her breath as her eyes snap open.  
  
"Today is bring your dad to school day". She explains. "All the kids mock him, because he doesn't have a father. We are looking for someone to be his dad for a month. But no one is good enough to go out with his mama" she points. "My friend and his mama are very close.” The girl slouched her shoulders. "So we came here because we thought that we could buy a daddy."  
  
"I am sorry little girl. I regret to tell you that you cannot buy a dad." John says with a soft touch in his voice.  
  
The sadness of the child is evident. And she repress tears.  
  
"Your friend is a demanding guy?" Sherlock requests.  
  
She shakes her head. "He just wants his father to be a pirate" The girl emphasis.  “It´s hard to find one in London.”

His eyes widen with absolute surprise.

Sherlock's mind is full of memories of him being a pirate.

Many moments playing with his loyal dog.               
He is looking at her.

"The pirates are cool. They fight against bad people and have many adventures".

A feeling runs through Sherlock's skin. He had not felt a warmth before. He is wondering if it is the fact that he feels moves by the story of the little boy.

He does not know what to think. Because he is Sherlock Holmes. He is the man who has everything.  
  
He just does what he thinks is right, and watches the little boy.  
  
"Why would you like to make a pirate your father little guy?" He test sitting next to him.  
  
"I" The boy points out flatly. His arms are crossed over his chest tightly hugging a little action figure, that Sherlock quickly recognizes like Jack Sparrow.  
  
He nods his head trying to understand the child. "Is it because you think they are superheroes?" Sherlock inquires.  
  
"No. It is just that... A pirate is the only person who has never hurt my mum." The boy confesses. "He can protect her, take her to beautiful places. They can search for hidden treasures….And my mummy is the best mummy in the world, as well as the most beautiful. So why wouldn't he want to."  
  
Sherlock's eyes brightened in sudden understanding.  
  
"Too bad you can't find me one."  The boy's eyes fill with tears. "It would be a dream come true."  
  
 Sherlock's heart beats strongly, a feeling of sadness takes over his chest, something that he cannot explain. "Look, miracles do happen", He says seriously.  
  
"Says the man who before said that he did not believe anyone but himself" points out the child.  
  
"You have a point there little man. What is your name? "  
  
"Matthew James Hooper". He gives Sherlock his hand; his grip is strong for someone of his age.  
  
"Nice to meet you Matthew. My name is Sherlock Holmes"  
  
"Sorry Matt that we couldn't find you a dad" Her voice sounds behind the man and the little boy nods in understanding.  
  
He does not seem happy, but he comes to stand behind Sherlock and touched him on the shoulder. "Everyone needs to believe in someone. You might want to begin by believing in my superhero."  
  
And with that he is gone, leaving a solitary and pensive Sherlock.

 

  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
"Do you want me to go with you Kid?" Asks his nanny tenderly brushing the boy's hair. He manages to comb some of his hair while she arranges the buttons on his red shirt.

"No. You're a girl. "He points out." One of the best". He quickly adds and she smile smiles. "But you're still a girl".  
  
"Would you like me to call your mummy? "  
  
"No, I do not want her to feel bad because I don't have a dad who can go."  
  
"Matt…"  
  
"It's ok. You cannot buy one". He pouts. "I already tried to, but I am big boy." He makes poses in the mirror with his shoulders raised. "I can go alone."

Mary smiles sadly, and finishes getting the boy ready to take him to school.  
  
"Well big boy. Have a good day".  
  
"Have a nice day too Mary". He kisses her on the cheek and says goodbye.

  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
At school some of the children laugh with their parents, some talk about how impressive the other parents are some finish their work, and a couple of other things happen that Matthew does not care about.  
  
"Hooper" called a child. "Where is your dad” He mocks. "Left you alone again?"  
  
Matthew's lips formed into a grimace and he was about to leave when a figure makes a surprise appearance. Sherlock is smiling; a sincere smile was spread all over his face. And the man cannot help but feel that everything is going to be perfectly fine.  
  
"Here's your daddy, Matt."  
  
"You came". He exclaims excited when the first tears are on his cheeks and a cry of surprise escapes from the mouths of many of his peers.  
  
"I told you that miracles exist" Sherlock smiles like he had never done before. He strongly embraced him. "I am not a pirate, but I promise you that it will be fun."  
  
His green eyes sparkle with kindness that he can feel in the bottom of his stomach.  
  
"Thank you". Matt whispers.  
  
"I just believed in my new favorite superhero that's all." Sherlock says.  
  
Someone once told him that the person who would change his life completely would come with time.  
  
He always thought it would be an adult, but he is now beginning to believe otherwise.


	2. A friend

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock must learn that not everything is as perfect and logical as he once thought. Sometimes you need to find the real you, even if that encounter is triggered by a little boy. We all change, but the essence of who we are remains with us forever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello to all those who read my story.  
> Thanks to all those people who commented. Your comments made me very happy.  
> I am glad you like my story.  
> Enjoy this new chapter.  
> A hug, have a happy day.  
> Kisses and thousands of blessings for all.  
> Disclaimer: This fanfiction is not written for profit and no infringement of copyright is intended. Not beta read so all mistakes are mine.

 

**A friend.**

**A true friend is someone who believes in you even though you have stopped believing in yourself.**

 

She watches him sleeping, peacefully snuggled under the sheets of his favorite super hero, his breathing is calm and she continues to marvel at how her child looks so beautiful. He is the light in her eyes, the only thing that gives meaning to her life and what keeps her clining to the earth.

She hates to wake him, but she knows she must, Matthew has to go to school and she has to go to work.

She approaches the bed quietly, and caresses the soft hair on her son´s head, it was not until a few seconds later that his green eyes meet hers and he lets out a euphoric laugh, as she tickles his stomach.

She takes his face in her hands, and kisses his pink cheeks. He is wrapper around her arms and embraces her with great force, so that she can feel the flutter of his heart, that simple feeling gives her energy to continue merrily with her day.

"Good morning, baby!" She greets still looking at him for a second.

"Hi, Mummy!" He responds and rubs his hands over his eyes sleepily. "You were not here last nigth," he feigns anger crossing his arms as he remembers how his nanny was the person who pum him to sleep last night.

"I know, I'm so sorry, Matt!" She apologizes, stroking his brown hair "when I got home, you were asleep, but Mary told me how well your day at school was."

"It was very fun!" He laughs and she knows that all is forgiven." But it's a private and confidential secret "he whispers with his voice of a special agent, who Matthew says he has.

"Oh, in that case," she smiles and helps him get out of bed to get ready. "I'll wait for the moment when you can reveal the mission, soldier" she whispers for fun.

"Well, rest soldier Hooper," he euphorically screams and runs to the bathroom.

She gets out of the bed to fix the sheets and to verify that her little boy has all the stuff he needs in his backpack.

"Matthew!" She called him realizing one of the object disappeared from his backpack.

He pokes his head through the crack in the door, reveling his face full of toothpaste and water.      " Where is Jack Sparrow?" Molly asks, referring to the toy action figure that Matthew has not stopped carrying around from the time she gave it him.

"I gave it to Shezza" he responds after a few seconds, in which then his face is washed and his teeth are brushed. "He needed it more than me" he continues talking and before she can ever bother to ask him more questions, he approaches his mother and adds, "You always said that we should be good people and help those who need it, right mummy?" The boy smiles and then makes a perfect demonstration of the incredible eyes used by p*** in Boots in Shrek.

"You're right sweetheart" she places a finger on his chin, to fix his gaze on her "you're a very good boy, and I'm proud of you."

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**20 minutes later.**

"So is Shezza a new classmate that I do not know Matty?" Molly inquires while Matthew took a seat at the table for breakfast. She knows that her son is shy child who tends to shrink with kids to his age, God knows how difficult it has been for him, after they changed cities several times in the past two years.

"Uh, uh" Matthew responds playing with the fork.

"I like you have new friends. Do you think if I talk to his parents, Shezza can come and eat with us?"

He has stopped playing with his eating utensils, watches her with wide eyes and responds "I do not know".

"Is Shezza eating with us Matt?" She asks, considering the chance that her son has an imaginary friend again.

He laughs explosively. "NO! Shezza is real mom... Sure you can ask... I bet you'll like him," he laughs.

And she notices that change of facial expressions in her son, that reaction rarely seen is evident as he keeps smiling. Perphaps after all, Shezza his new friend is someone who will help her small boy to fit in.

The minutes pass in silence and he just opens his mouth and slowly closes without saying a word. "What baby?"

"You're wearing a skirt today." He points a finger at her outfit while eating his breakfast.

"Should I go chance? Do you not want me this n*** out the house" she laughs and he rolls his eyes.

"It's your day off. You always wear normal clothes when you are off. "He shrugs.

Molly smiles, still amazes at the ingenuity of her little one and how attentive he is with all the details, especially if they involve her.

"Today I have to go to a job interview" she notes while she finishes filling the small lunchbox and eats a piece of bread with fruit jam.

"Why?" He looks confused. "Do not you like your job anymore?"

"I want to get a better job, one that will offers better opportunities. "She sighs, and looks for the right words to say." I want to give you eveything you deserve, baby. "She smiles at him tenderly while wondering when she'll be able to give her son all those things she always dreamed of. Life has been so hard on them, and he's just a lovely Little boy.

"All right, Mummy. I do not want much though, "he says without a doubt. He is a mature boy for his age, and Molly knows that it is because of the situations he has been through.

"Matt!" She sweetly calls for him, he has stopped eating and is waiting for the bus to come pick him up.

"If I could choose between all the toys in the world and you?" he points out and she turns her gaze to him." You know who I would choose? "He asks her making use of those tender smiles he usually gives her.

"Surprise me, Little man!" She plays along knowing his response.

"I choose you."

"And I choose you little man" Molly embraces him sweetly as she feels small tears flow from her eyes. The bus horns beeps and she lets him go.

"I love you mummy. Be good. "The boy smiles and gives her a cheerful look.

"I love you baby".

He says goodbye and before entering the bus looks at the sky and repeats: _"God please let my mummy get a new job. I've never asked for anything before, you can check"._

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Afternoon. Bookseller:** **THE CORNER OF THE ARROWS**

"And then he came and they were all amazed Gerard... the child lifted up his hands, little Matthew has spent more than half an hour talking about how incredible Sherlock Holmes is. "And everyone wants to be my friends, because Shezza is so cool." He smiles really big from one side of his face to the other.

"Matthew! Slow down my boy," advises the middle-aged man sitting behind the pile of books. He tries to contain his laughter, after hearing the Little adventure that yesterday. "That means you like Sherlock".

"Yes, he's the best detective in the world and the best person I know."

"Hello Matthew"Sherlock greets, standing by the door of the library. The child opens his eyes in disvelief runs to meet him, warmly leaning on his arms. " Shezza!" He screams loudly.

"I asked at school and they said you'd be here. "He places Matthew back on the floor and a shy smile appears on his lips, shakes his brown hair." You want to go out for ice cream?"

"Yup" The child shouts again.

"Matthew, go get your things while I speak with Mr. Holmes" says the man and the boy nods and runs to go get his things.

Sherlock turned his head to glance at him.

_Man. 65 years._

_1.70 meters. Posture firm and determined. A protective man._

_American. The accent betrays him._

_His movements are slow and he touches his hip every three seconds or so._

_Hip fracture corrected with surgery, recently._

_Man of average social status. His clothes are old and discolored. Frayed in three parts of the shirt he wears._

_Widower. His ring has been removed from the ring finger recently. However the mark is clearly visible._

_Kind man, who misses his children. If the way he addresses Matthew is a clue._

_Little hairs are in his pants. Black and white, indicating that he owns two dogs. A terrier and a little poodle._

"My name is Gerard Argent" He extends his hand, and is narrowed by Sherlock. "You has made an incredible impression on Matthew, he's a shy boy in most cases."

"I think he's a very smart boy.

Gerard nods his head.

"I just want to make it clear that he and his mother have lived in very difficult circumstances, I hope you do not take advantage of Matthew" Gerard demand strengthening his voice.

Sherlock studies his face as it seems he is struggling with something inside but does not know how to express it.

Interesting.

"I do not want to hurt him."He sentences firmly."I assure you, sir. It's not in my plans".

"I hope so, or I will be the one to intercede for him."

Sherlock is unable to respond, Matthew is back with his backpack.

"One fact: He is allergic to strawberries and if he eats more than two scoops of ice cream it is impossible for him to eat dinner."

Sherlock nodded his head. "Thank you, I will come back with him in an hour."

 

 

 

**At the ice cream shop.**

"And what are doing in kindergarten these days?" Sherlock asks casually sitting besides the Little kid, both with their delicious chocolate ice cream.

"Today we draw things about our family and the things we like," Matthew says as starts eating his ice cream. "I drew many things, do you want to see them Shezza?"

He lets out a sigh.

Shezza.

Wiggins and his perfect time.

Fuck.

The young man had called him that way three times the previous afternoon. And now his nickname was in the public domain. At least as far as a kindergarten is concerned.

He has been trying to get rid of the terrible nickname for months. And now, as curious as it may seem. He likes it how sounds when Mattew said it.

"Let's see that artistic side of you," he responds making him and Little boy laugh.

Matthew rushes to go his sketchbook from his backpack, and starts to show Sherlock, who looks attentively at each drawing.

"This is my house and this is my dog Rocco" Matthew points and Sherlock sees a simple style house with a very cozy ball of white and brown fur in front of it, which was Rocco is laying.

"My mom didn't allow me to call him Leviathan or Kraken" The child shrugs, making a slight pout.

Sherlock smiles. "Neighbors may be frightened to hear you call mythological sea creatures near of their houses".

The boy laughs. "That’s mummy said"

Matthew keeps going through the drawings, various landscapes, places, and several faces of a woman with beautiful eyes occupy the following pages.

"There are many drawings of one person. Who is she? "

"She's my mummy," he blushes taking the spoon to keep eating his ice cream. "She's the most beautiful mummy in the world and she´s my pride," the little boy says.

"I can see that, and look at those eyes" Sherlock points at one of the drawing and Matthew nods quickly.

"My eyes are also like that" he is excited to know that someone else recognizes the resemblance between him and his mother.

Warm and innocent eyes. Sherlock thinks.

He keeps looking through his sketchbook at the drawings, and Sherlock must say that he is impressed with the talent of the five-year boy.

He is about to finish his ice cream, when Sherlock sees a piece of paper in the blook, somewhat wrinkled. He looks it and can feel the smiling look of the small boy change.

It is a picture of him hugging his mother and at the foot of the page is picture of a man bigger than them dressed in black.  

"He's bad." Matthew murmurs before Sherlock achieved asking. "He's my dad."

"Matthew where's your dad?" That´s all he can think to ask at that time. And then he remembers Gerard saying how difficult it has been for Matthew and his mother.

"I do not know. He left a long ago. "He diverted his gaze.

"Where did he go?" Sherlock asks him again.

"I do not know. My mummy does not talk about him. "He ends. "But I do not want him to come back."

Sherlock swallows hard. "Why not?"

 He lowers his chin, his eyes remain on the floor for a few seconds.

Sherlock studies his face critically, squinted his dark eyes, as if to bring it into focus.

"Mummy cries when he's around. The last time he came back, we had to spend some time in the hospital, "the boy explains to Sherlock sitting beside him.

And that's all Sherlock need to know. His fists are closed on both sides of the table and a rage he does not know runs through his body.

Oh, and he complained that he had a slightly sloppy dad. His father compared to Matthew´s father was a saint.

"You know, no bad person can touch you anymore." Sherlock sentences with a soft tone in his voice resting a firm hand on his shoulder "I am with you, your mother and you are safe."

"Thank you, Sherlock," he says, hugging him gently.

"Not Matthew. Thank you for being here. You're the real superhero. "he shakes his hair tenderly.

 

 

 

 

 

**A few minutes later.**

"Why are you here Shezza?"The little boy looks him at the time, realizing that any adult would be working in the middle of the afternoon.

"I wanted to eat ice cream and I did not really want to do it alone," Sherlock answer natually.

"I mean your job. Because you're not there? "

Oh, Smart kid.

"I wait for a competent pathologist who can help me in some cases"

Five professionals have left their jobs in Barts. And it is not his fault, that they have been incompetent in performing routine procedures like an autopsy.

He was only responsible for pointing out the obvious. On multiple occasions.

_It was entirely your fault, those poor souls ran from the morgue, as quickly as possible_. John's voice echoes in his head.

Sherlock shrugs. "So i´m going to eat ice cream until she or he magically appears. "

"Can I give you some advice?" Sherlock laughs and stares at the Little boy.

"You have five. What make you think you have such great advice? "

"The wisdom is in the ABM, that's what Gerard says all the time."

Sherlock smiles. "DNA." He edits.

Matthew rolls his eyes and nods in understanding. "Well, DNA."

"Okay, kid. Tell me some advice to help me get an excellent pathologist so I will not have to wait at least a month for"

The boy stares at the empty cup of the ice cream, hoping the answer will finally come to him. Sherlock waits.

"I knew it, I knew it!" He hits his forehead with the palm of his hand."You need a Grace. "He exclaims with a start.

"What is that supposed to mean?" Sherlock asks puzzled, eating his chocolate ice cream.

"I did not have many friends before. Zero, "he says holding hands. " but then I met the best friend in the whole world." He makes a dramatic pauses. "Grace. I think you need one. "

"Grace?" Sherlock is confused with his own question and does not know when the last time was that he let a child give him some advice.

If John see this, he would laugh.

"She ates the strawberry ice cream for me, because I can not do it." he comments as an expert on the subject.

 "What are you saying?, That I should work with a new pathological based on the fact that she/ he likes ice cream?"

"Mm" the child thinks, until he hastens to add. "Wait, I'm thinking." The kid raises his index finger. "No... She has to do nice things for you."

"How clevere of you"

Matthew frowns as he try to remember something more. "Grace helped me get a dad yesterday."

Sherlock raises his eyebrows."Yes, that´s something I remeber. "

"It's as if she´s just like you, but a girl."

It´s so complicated, if she was a female version of mine. We would probably end up destroying the building. He thinks.

"So how do I know if the new pathologic is a Grace?"

"Only you will know. Mummy says that you should open your heart to people and be kind to never be alone. "

"That does not help me, boy."

Matthew laughs once more at Sherlock's expression and stands up: "You have to look out for good. When my mummy is not home I do not feel alone if I'm with Grace or my nany Mary."

"Ok, let's review: So has to like Ice cream, noticing good, and not feel alone with that person. I get it".

"You get it!"

"Sherlock!" Matthew calls him f seriosness looded his voice.

"Yes, little one."

"If you do not get your Grace today... He hesitates a moment... "I am your friend".

"And you're the best friend in the world that I could get."

 

 

 

 

 

 

**St Bartholomew's Hospital**

 After the Doctor Perkins interviewws 15 more people who seem completely inadequate for the job, Sherlock lets out a bored sigh and thinks he should give up at least for today.

"A complete loss of time". Sherlock whispers.

The face of the man sitting next to him, looks at him in disbelief.

"You are horrible to other people. You do not know how to work with others. If it was not for your brother, believe me you were not here."Oscar J. Perkins shouts and Sherlock couldn't agree more with his thoughts.

It was not a question. He didn't try to answer.

It´s then that the door opens and Oscar´s voice speaks neutrally.

"You can sit" he adds, still watching the mountains of paper that are on his desktop.

"Good afternoon." her voice sounds like a melody he has never heard before, and Sherlock is eager to hear her voice again. He lifts his head to meet her incredibly brown and challenging eyes. Her hair falls freely around her shoulders. Her makeup is light-colored and she is wearing a white cherry print cardigan and a red skirt wich curiously match with her soft legs and beautiful hair.

He finds himself for a moment bewildered.

A question is still in his mind: Where I have seen this woman before?

Oscar searches for her resume quickly and begins to look through, while the woman gives him complete answers to the questions, Sherlock is looking for his own questions.

He should be trying to figure her out. Find out every minute detail of her life.

It is what he does with each person.

But he finds that he does not want to do it.

It's confusing.

Especially because he finds himself admiring the warmth of her gaze.

The kind of warmth that very few people have.

Is different. She is different.

Even he allows himself, stop his train of thoughts and observe her smile.

She is intriguing. And he feels comfortable in her presence. With the safe way she describes her previous work, and her fine movements.

Even more disconcerting. He is Sherlock Holmes. He does not feel comfortable in the presence of anyone, except for John, Mrs. Hudson, and Lestrade.

Perkins's voice brings him back. "Great. The job is yours.Dra. Ho…

"Molly" She elaborates

"The job is yours. Molly" He smiles her warmly. "You will find here a whole series of adversaries: shift leaders, journalists who try to test your limits to place their own headlines but, you must act with hard hands to face them. I am sure you are able to confront anyone."

She nods.

"Welcome to Barts". Oscar says, shaking her hand.

She smiled in return.  She is about to leave when Sherlock's voice stops her.

"This Might sound a bit absurd." He takes a deep breath, remember to behave like a pro. But at that time his heart beats strongly, and he is sure that if he talks he would probably sound a little, probably very unprofessional. "Do you like ice cream?"

"Of course," she responds somewhat stunned before his eyes fixed on her.  

He nods.                                                                                                                          

_You were right, Matthew.  "Finally I got my Grace," he says to himself when he saw her leave._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you take the time to read, please take time to comment.  
> Feel free to let me know what you think. Questions, suggestions, opinions, anything goes.  
> I hope you enjoyed reading this chapter.  
> Kisses and hugs.


	3. Father

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First I want to thank all those people who read my story; your comments have been really wonderful and very motivating for me.  
> It is amazing the support I have had. Thank you very much indeed, means a lot to me that they like my story. I really thank all who have encouraged me to continue this story.  
> Anyway, I hope you enjoy this chapter and let me know what you think.  
> A big hug. Kisses, blessings and good vibes for everyone.  
> Disclaimer: I don´t own Sherlock.

**_Father_ ** _  
It is not flesh and blood but the heart, which makes us fathers and sons._

It was nearly midnight when Molly is back home. She opened the door gently and is welcomed by a picture of her and her son holding hands, hanging just behind the door over the place where the keys are located . Next to the drawing is a flower and a note with a particular letter that belongs to the small boy she loves most in the world. _Congratulations_ is written on the letter and she smiles.

"He was sure that you would get the job." Mary is quick to add, who is sitting on the cream color couch as she reads the latest news from City Journal. "He prepared everything and insisted on staying awake and waiting for you, but he was too tired in the end." the woman smiles and Molly nods in understanding.

"Has he been good to you Mary?" She asks leaving her portfolio on the table and taking a seat on the couch. Mary is not just her babysitter, she is one of the first people she met on her arrival to the city and she is her closest friend.

"That child is an angel Molls; you could not ask for a better behaved kid." Both the women are smiling. "He has not stopped talking about his new friend Shezza all afternoon. That has kept us busy."

"You too..."the brunette laughs.  "I thought Shezza was a classmate, but Matt said no. Do you think I should worry? "

"No, I have not seen him so excited for quite some time," answers the blonde-haired woman. "I do not think you should worry. You know how kids are. They know guys everywhere. But I will find out who he is tomorrow just to be safe."

"Thanks Mary." Molly smiles at her friend. "Who do you think got a job at Bart’s?" She says after a pause that her friend takes to get them both a drink.

"Wow Bart’s" Mary can’t believe what she just heard "This is great Molls! When I say big I mean it's huge!"

"I know" Molly smiles happily. "It's a great opportunity to give Matthew everything he deserves. I hope it really works out."

"And the best thing about working at Bart’s is Sherlock Holmes. The man lives practically there." Mary sighs, mindlessly dabbing the cup. "He's really hot," She whispers with a wink.

"He's a very handsome man." Molly clarifies, blushing considerably. She can still remember his penetrating blue eyes.

"Handsome?" Mary asks incredulously. "I remember the first time I saw him on telly and thought, hell!" She confesses honestly, earning a small laugh from Molly. Sometimes she thinks her nanny will always be that rebellious woman who she met a couple of years ago.

"And those are the hormones talking." Molly teases.

"How excited do you think Matthew will be when he finds out that you are working in a place where Sherlock Holmes is always around?" Mary tells her with a smile on her lips.

"That's something I'd rather argue with him about when the time comes."

"A surprise?"

"For his birthday. I might tell him. He gets very excited.”

She is waiting for a response, but she gets none. Silence that takes over the room. Just as she is about to say something, Mary hands her what looks like a crumpled paper.

"I found this in his things," she whispers, gently touching her shoulder. Mary knows she has to wait a little longer, but she cannot. This topic is too delicate. "Talk to him Molly."

* * *

 

When she walks into his room, there's a big lump in her throat. She is not fragile, she's a strong woman, determined to fight for her and her son.  She takes a deep breath and then fixes her skirt and a smile is plastered on her face. He remains asleep, peacefully, wrapping his hands around a flower, or what remains of it. The image touches her and she carefully watches him for a couple of minutes. He stirs in his dreams and says her name. Molly opens her eyes in surprise and smiles.

"Matt!" She calls him and stokes his brown hair.

"Mummy" He yawns and his breath smells of peanut butter biscuits. She could have sworn she told Mary not let him eat more snacks before bedtime. She plants a wet kiss on his right cheek and he does the same.

"Did you have fun today?" Molly whispers. The little boy smiles and nods happily, suddenly awake.

"I went to eat ice cream with my friend Shezza!" He explains excitedly.

"Mary told me that. Should I be getting jealous now that you only talk about Shezza?" She asks in a mocking tone. Matthew throws his short arms around her neck and he nestles into the crook of her neck. He smells like chocolate, crayons and happiness.

"No mummy!" He laughs without releasing her from his grip "Shezza is my friend, but you're my mum!"

"That's okay baby, I like that you have new friends." She kisses his cheek and hugs him tightly suppressing a series of tears threatening to escape from her eyes.

"This flower is for you" he pulls the flower loose from his grip, and automatically wrinkling his brow to see the flower with only two petals remaining. The others are spread all over his bed." Gerard said that roses are good to say I love you and congrants".

"It's beautiful, my baby!" She smiles and takes it in her hands, being careful not to destroy the remaining petals. "How did you know I would get the job?"

"Nobody could say no to you, because you're the best!" He responds with an innocent smile.

"Thank you darling, my little man. You are the most intelligent, kind and special child in the world." She looks at him and his smile makes her want to smile again.

"So is your boss a woman or a man?" Molly rolls her eyes.

"I'm serious," Matthew says, crossing his little arms over his chest. "I need to know. It's for your protection."

"It is a man."

"Is he married? Does he have children?" Matthew asks, watching her anxiously.

"Not that I know of. Matthew, what is all this about?" He gets off the bed, without looking, clearly affected by her response. He turns his back to sit on the carpet and starts playing with his action figures.

"Matthew…Matthew…Baby talk to me please"

He does not respond, so she sits with him on the carpet, her hand gently stroking his shoulders. He lifts his deep green eyes to see her.  "If he is a man" the little one speaks and shakes slightly. "Will he be bad like Daddy?"

Molly freezes. Matthew has talked about his father recently and she cannot understand why. She has done nothing to provoke any thought of him. She never expected that thinks about the man at all. Sometimes she just wants to yell at Matthew and tell him he should not think about his father. He is not coming back and never will. He must forget him. She must forget him too. But she cannot. She cannot forget him and it is so damn frustrating.

"No baby!" Her hand gently holds his little hands when she says: "No one will hurt us again."

"Are you sure?" His green eyes are focused on hers.             

She swallowed hard, because she fears his father will someday appear and try to steal Matthew from her. That is her worst fear. The terror of the man will damage her boy; that crazy idea that appears overnight drives her to madness, preventing her from sleeping. But Matthew is too young to understand that, and he should not worry about it. Not when she would give her life to protect him.

"Very much" she says confidently. "You are what I love most in this whole world, and listen to me Matthew. I will not ever let anyone touch you. Never again"

"No bad guys...", He repeated, while clenching his hands with hers.

"No, never, baby. Do not worry." she kisses his head and lets the first of tears fall down her face.

He must realize that she feels broken, because he gets up to hug her and places a kiss on her forehead, then he dries her tears with his thumb by making gentle caress. "Do not worry. Shezza will protect us mummy".

"I love you baby." She whispers lost in his warm embrace.

"And I love you too, Mummy."

**__ **

* * *

 

**_A_** **_few days later._**

**Victoria Park.** **London.**

"Hello John" Sherlock greets his best friend.

"Sherlock, I thought you were not coming!" John sighs heavily, giving him a pissed off look for arriving two hours late.

"I found myself bored. Too many boring cases trying to monopolize my time. I decided to try clearing my mind just this one morning in the open air. "

John looks so impressed with his words. "Are you kidding? You? In the park? For a game? A game that lasts ninety minutes?" He lets out a disbelieving laugh.    

"I am a man who can control himself". Sherlock smiles. "I can handle a tedious soccer game"

"Self-control is a word that is definitely missing in your day-to-day vocabulary". John replies sarcastically.

"Uncle John!" Isaac cries and John turns to meet a small blond with blue eyes that interrupted their conversation.

"Sherlock!" The boy shouts, excited to see the man standing next to his uncle.

"So you remember Sherlock, eh?" John asks him, lifting the boy in his arms. "You never remember anyone!"

The little kid laughs and shouts: "He is a detective, Uncle John"

John smiles and runs his hand through the boy curly hair. "I thought you were going to show us these great moves of yours on the field"

"Yes!" He stirs out of his uncle’s arms and runs onto the field. "You have to see me play!" 

* * *

 

They sit in the stands, which are already filled with people with banners supporting their teams. Many moms shout the name of their children and Sherlock sees Isaac positioned in the center of the goal. John smiles proudly as he takes a couple of pictures. The football game starts. It is monotonous for the first few minutes. The ball flies from one side to the other, and the children run after it. It is what you would expect for children 5 and 6 years old playing football. He is practically lost in his cell, when a name catches his eye.

"Let’s go Matthew!" Encourages the voice of a woman. "You can do it!" she continues.

Sherlock anxiously looks for the source voice in the stands, but it is difficult to make out a face in the crowd.

He gives up, but not before intently watching every little player on the field. His eyes light up when he realized that the number five shirt, black and red stripes, belongs to his friend Matthew. Which by the way, is playing on the same team as John's nephew. The world is a small place and everyone seems to know him.

"Look John, its Matthew!" Exclaims Sherlock like a little kid in a candy store.

"Who?" John asks confuse, still taking pictures of the game.

"The boy, the midfield player. The number five". Sherlock moves his hand toward the field. "The chestnut. The kid at the store that one day John" Sherlock lets out a sigh of disbelief.

"Oh" John exclaims, as if just discovering the hidden murderer in that famous game called Clue. "You were his dad that day," John states plainly.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"I had no idea of the child influence over you," He mocks.

"I did my good deed for the day John, he needed me," Sherlock says then shrugs with an amused smile on his face. "The kid is really special."

John is blinking in surprise, and turns to him, leaving his camera in the stands. "Wait, what? Are you serious?"

"Uh, uh"

"Should we expect an angry mother today?" John asks with a frown. He has known his friend for a long time and John is sure that Sherlock has made the most irresponsible and foolish choices that may exist. Ergo a high-maintenance millionaire psychopath is pretending to be the father of a child.

"Matthew is my friend". Sherlock lies, hoping that one day someone will like him for what he does and who he is. But he definitely does not feel bad about it. It is a white lie.

 John decides not to continue this argument, knowing that his friend does not believe that what he is doing is wrong. Sherlock Holmes a dad? John thinks about it. _In which crazy world I waked up today?_ He asks himself.

* * *

  
  
78 minutes have passed, and Isaac has made several spectacular saves, especially for a child, and John cheers happily, supporting the team. Matthew has scored two goals in the first half, and boy has Sherlock enjoyed screaming goal. His third goal comes after 68 minutes. Sherlock smiles brightly and Matthew greets him a few times by waving at him in the stands. The little one is constantly seeking Sherlock´s approval of everything he does on the field, and Sherlock could not be happier. He is proud. But of course, in the game anything can change.

"Referee are you blind?" Sherlock yells furiously "Obviously that's a foul" he shouts vehemently, as Matthew writhes on the floor, his face red and eyes watery.

The referee gives him a look then turns and Sherlock keeps screaming down the field saying they should hire someone more professional.

"Get off the field cry baby!" Shouts a man in the stands with a shirt of the opposing team.

John can see where his friend's gaze is directed and he places a hand on his friend's shoulder. "Sherlock"

"You should not say anything, leave him alone he's such a great boy" Sherlock accuses angrily. "He's playing really well, and that giant child has thrown him in the grass".

"Your son fell and is crying like a little baby" the man mocks pacing right in front of him, "look at that," he says pointing at field "he looks like a dwarf, and so do you" the guy then smirks.

"I think you do not know who you’re talking to." Sherlock says threatening, while still looking at the man. He feels like his blood burning.

"Calm down!" John suggests taking his arm hard.

"No. I will not calm down, what the hell is so funny" Sherlock asks the man who smiles for fun.

"They've taken him out for being a crybaby" the man beckons and Sherlock can see how Matthew leaves the field crying and he is quick to look for him.

"We do not want problems." John speaks slowly stopping the man who keeps smiling stupidly. "I suggest you go" he places a hand on his chest and lightly presses. The man looks at him threatening, then he turns around and leaves.

"Do not cry little man" Sherlock comes to meet him. "You did great, no one could have done better" He assures him then holds him gently in his arms.

"You’re just saying that because you're my friend," the child pouts, wiping tears from his eyes.

"No, I would not lie to you. You're a born football player."

Matthew nods proudly, smiling "Three goals," he raises his fingers.

Sherlock puts him down on the grass to make sure he is all right.

"You are the number one player, you have left the other team completely helpless! I'm telling you Matthew, I saw sad faces, many of them were crying after the last goal!"

Matthew is immediately animated and jumps from one side to another and they end up watching the game together. His team won and Sherlock hugged Matthew. John went looking for his nephew and then came to meet Sherlock and Matthew.

"Uncle John, Is Sherlock Matthew's father?" Isaac Asks looking both at adults, seeing as Sherlock is holding Matthew's hand tenderly.

The brown freezes, and slowly his eyebrows meet in the middle.

Silence.  He then gets hit in the arm by John, which led him to utter a response.

"Yes, Isaac. Matthew is my son," answers Sherlock hugging the small boy. Sherlock then looks over at Matthew whose green eyes are widening significantly.

And a silent touch caresses his heart. He is smiling a real smile.

"So Mr. Holmes, are you Matthew’s dad?" asks a beautiful voice behind him, Sherlock does not know what to say and neither Matthew. All that is waiting for him is trouble, should he chose to turn around. Some things simply cannot be denied.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh! Troubles…   
> I hope you enjoyed reading this chapter. Kisses and hugs.  
> If you take the time to read, please take time to comment.   
> Feel free to let me know what you think. Questions, suggestions, opinions, anything goes.   
>  Hugs and kisses.


	4. Father (2)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Angst and fluffy  
> Disclaimer: I don´t own Sherlock.

 

**Father (2)**

"So Mr. Holmes, are you Matthew’s dad?" a beautiful voice asks behind him. Sherlock doesn’t know what to say and neither does Matthew. All that is waiting for him is trouble, should he chooses to turn around. Some things simply can’t be denied.

"Answer me, Matthew James. I asked you a question." Her voice is neutral and calm. Her expression is a serious, fixed on both boys.

"Sorry" says the smaller one, not knowing what else to say. He can feel his hand being squeezes by Sherlock in a sign of support.

"You're sorry? You have been lying to your mum and me all this time and all you have to say is sorry?" Mary asks, crossing her arms over her chest. A big frown appears on her beautiful face.

The situation is overwhelming, but when he hears her words, Sherlock can only let out a sigh of relief. It could be worse, he tells himself. She could be Matthew’s mum.

She looks terribly upset and he totally gets why. Lying is not okay and even less okay for a young child. But he's Sherlock Holmes and that's one of his greatest skills. Lying. He can conquer any person with his words. And she probably will not be the exception.

John intently watches the situation, apologizes, and then leaves the scene with his nephew. 

"Excuse me, Miss." he starts, stopping to see the look of disbelief on the woman's face. "I don’t think scolding the child is the best cause of action right now." Sherlock says, giving her a sincere look.

Mary can only roll her eyes. "So three days with the child makes you an expert in the field Mr. Holmes?"

The boy automatically loosens his grip and timidly approaches his nanny. "Don’t be mad please Mary!" the boy probes, his voice two shades lighter than usual "Sherlock was just helping me. Don’t be mad." Matthew says with the best puppy dog eyes that he can give her.

She just shakes her head, considering how she would act in such a difficult situation. She knows she should be upset by the terrible lie that these two boys came up with, establishing links that clearly don’t exist. She really just wants to yell at the man for being a complete idiot. But she'd hate to see Matthew getting hurt by their fight. She knows how much he admires Sherlock and how he has not left his side since the day they met.

Part of this could go terribly wrong, her mind tells her. God! He is Sherlock Holmes the man who almost works with her best friend, who just so happens to be Matthew’s mother!

What is she supposed to do?

The look on Matthew’s face gives her the answer she needs.

"I want you to wait for me in the car honey." she softens her voice as she sees the tears in his eyes.

"NO!" Matthew states strongly placing his hands outstretched in front of Sherlock as if to protect him. "You are probably going to hit him." his face is full of sadness "Mary hit her last boyfriend, she was as angry as she is now." he cries to Sherlock, who outlines an amused smile.

"Get in the car Matthew, now." Mary commands. The pained look in his eyes doesn’t leave her, so she tries again with a much quieter tone, "I promise I will only speak with the man."

"No!" He takes a breath.  "I want to go to the pizzeria near Gerard’s library like we do after every game. And I want Sherlock to come with us" He pauses negotiating the proposal "We can talk there, all three of us."

"Come on boy, I think it's a good idea to wait in the car. Then we can go eat together." Sherlock says with a look of appreciation on his face. The boy has done nothing to defend him.

Matthew looks at him and nods his head but not before he leaves he adds sheepishly "They make fun of me at school Mary."

She crouches down, gently stroking his hair. "Why is that honey?"

"I have no father." he answers.

Sherlock's heart sinks. It hurts to hear Matthew say things like that. He has so much sadness in his little voice for a child of only five years. It shouldn’t be like that.

"They make fun of you because you don’t have a father?" Mary asks.

"Yes," he says softly. "Sherlock just wanted to help me by saying he was my dad."

"Okay" her hands caress his face. "Wait for me in the car."

The boy turns and walks to the car located a few steps from where they are. However he is far enough away so he can’t hear their conversation.

"You think you can be a good father Mr. Holmes?" Mary asks as soon as she sees Matthew sitting on the hood of the car.

That’s the big question it seems.                                                                                              

"He's an amazing little boy. I like him and he likes me. He's a little lonely, I realized that when I met him and I think I can help him" vulnerability and honesty take over his voice. "I know I can do it and I really want to and then I think about it and say to myself" There's a pause and he continues with insecurity. "I realize that he is not my son. And the truth is I don’t know if I can be his father."

Mary observes him attentively, her expression softens significantly upon hearing the sincerity of his words.

"It's a big responsibility and a long-term commitment." she declares. "Playing his father is one thing but actually being it is another."

"I know, I…" This time he stopped, looks at her and swallows. It is then that he realizes how nervous he is. "At first I just wanted to help him, you know." he then takes a sharp breath. "Help him avoid teasing from his peers. But then, I stopped and thought about if for a minute. About this boy. And I can’t imagine not doing it."

Mary doesn’t expect such a response, at least not coming from him, for the first time she feels like she is speechless.

It is not until a minute later she decides to talk.

"It's a nice gesture. Helping him, being his buddy." She has to agree with him on that. Matthew is a wonderful kid, anyone should feel grateful to have him as a friend. "He talks about you, he has grown attached to you very quickly. And if I'm honest I don’t think you have bad intentions." Mary adds helpfully. "But you are Sherlock Holmes." He looks at her apprehensively. "I hate to say it, but he is not a toy, and you can’t always have what you want"

"Actually, I pretty much can." he says. "And I don’t think he's a toy".

"What I want to say, Mr. Holmes, is that Matthew is a boy who has suffered greatly. His father left when he was a baby" Mary explains. "And he just returned a few times to make him and his mother suffer in the process. Matthew doesn’t need more pain in his life; he doesn’t need someone who wants to pretend to be his father. He needs a real father. "  
Sherlock sucks in a breath. Her words are like daggers. He slowly closes his eyes and takes a deep breath trying to calm down.

"I'm sorry." He responds, his throat closing in a sense of shock. Sherlock suddenly hates that man and what he has done to Matthew.

Matthew, who is a great boy, smart, adorable. Nobody deserves that kind of pain.

"So I will do my best for him. I'll let you decide," Mary utters. Sherlock looks astonished. He doesn’t say anything, allowing her to continue. This was getting more personal than he considered comfortable.

"You can stay and be a father figure for the boy, someone he admires and respect, to teach good things and not hurt him. Or you can go and never come back. Keep in mind that if you decide to stay and get tired of him, or leave just because you want to, don’t think it won't hurt him more than anyone. "

Her words have a bad effect on him. He shakes his head and starts walking in search of John.

Her words sink finally sink in exactly 7 seconds later.

Sherlock probably won’t see him anymore.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

The drive to the restaurant is completely silent. Mary gives a few worried looks at the boy who just keeps looking out the window, his eyes filled with tears. And she knows that the situation has been difficult for him.

"Are you mad?" Matthew asks releasing the seat belt.

"No honey, I am not." She answers with a gentle smile. "I'm proud of you. Three goals, huh?"

Matthew shrugs. "It was OK. My team won in football today."

"I think it has some of the best players in it." she says, taking his hand and entering the pizzeria.

"Will you tell my mummy?" He suddenly asks, watching her carefully.

She thinks for a few seconds.

"No, I will not."

That's it. No more talk for half an hour. Only watery sighs and a pair of sad green eyes. That breaks Mary's heart.

She wishes she could say something to cheer him up but doesn’t know what to say. Because if there is one difficult child to convince in the world, it is Matthew.

When the waiter brings Matthew's favorite pizza, she almost wants to cry. God this is an awful situation! Mary feels a pang in her heart. Maybe she scared Sherlock Holmes off.  Of course she did. Someone who has never been engaged with anything in his life. He would not want a child, much less that of another woman.

What was she thinking?

Matthew stops her line of thinking when he asks "Will Shezza come back?" she can see the hope in his eyes.

"I...” her voice is cut ...

"Is the boy who scored three great goals eating here?" Ask a deep voice.

A cry escapes Matthew’s lips and she just smiles at his reaction. Wonder, joy, and that twinge of excitement that can make your heart literally stop with emotion.

"Shezza!" Matthew shouts loudly, jumping into his arms. Sherlock hugs him with equal or much more joy.  
She smiles.

"The truth is that I don’t know how to be a good father." Sherlock responds to her previous question. "I don’t have the best role model." he adds with emotion clearly stuck to his voice. "But I will try to be the best for Matthew."

And that, she thinks, is enough. Now all she needs to do is talk to Molly. It’s a sensitive point, but in other times will be, she says to herself, now she delighted to see this couple learning how to live as nothing but a son and a father.

Well that is what Mary likes to think.

 

 

 

* * *

 

**_A couple of days later._ **

"Did you know that koalas sleep more than sloths to save energy?"

"No." he answers, admiring the boy’s work. Matthew draws the animal on a white sheet, colored pencils are scattered near the last table in the bookstore belonging to Gerard.

"Plus they are great climbers, feet and claws allow them to have what they needed to grab and swing on branches," continues Matt, as if reciting a chapter of National Geographic Channel.

Sherlock smiles. Matthew never ceases to surprise him. The kid has an innate talent for drawing and searching for information about animals that he loves. First he became an expert on elephants, lions and then recently on koalas.

Sherlock seriously thinks that he could get a real one. After all, he is a rich man.

However that particular train of toughs stops when Mary gives him a look from the other side of the table. She specifically told him that he can’t give the child any exotic animal, under any circumstances.

Matt's mother would be angry. Sherlock laughs at it but says nothing, he just gives her a look of understanding and continues to monitor the nanny and the small drawings.

"Koalas may be immobile on a branch for an hour. While asleep, they cling to the branches to prevent themselves from falling." He says and Matt's eyes widened to reveal a green tone in them, much brighter than usual.

Sherlock merely smiles at it.

"Watching TV and viewing…something else documentaries to impress the child, Mr. Holmes?" Mary asks incredulously without losing sight of the information that she currently reads on her laptop.

Sherlock lets out a laugh and shakes his head. "I heard it once." Matt's eyes are lit while coloring his drawing. "I thought it would interest Matthew. Am I right?"

Matt smiles and nods. Mary's smile doesn’t leave her lips as she observes the interaction between the man and the boy.

"Of course!" She laughs typing on the keyboard of her laptop. "I forgot you're a genius."

"Is that jealousy talking?" He countered.

"Never in a million years." she is quick to respond "I know the koala boy and how to impress him even before you decide to start solving cases.”

Matt let out a chuckle at that and Sherlock merely chuckles back.

His time with the little one is usually so full of jokes, fun and learning. If Sherlock is honest with himself, he must admit that Sherlock has learned more now than he could in his old school. There are things they just don’t teach, things you learn at some point in your life. And Sherlock is learning them now.

"Matt get your things, it’s time to go home," Mary says a few hours later.

The boy nods obediently and begins to gather his things. Mary looks as Gerard helps Matt put everything into his bag.

"I'll be in the car. I'll give you two a couple of minutes," Mary says and nods to Sherlock who walks towards the little brown haired boy.

Matt looks at him curiously, a look of confusion crossing his face as Sherlock takes a teddy bear from a mahogany-colored bag. The bear is worn and has an S marked on the nightgown of his jacket. "Is it yours?" Matt question him carefully.

"It was." Sherlock gives him a tender smile. "It is yours now. I hear he’s the best bear you could ever have. He’ll protect you from the monsters!”

Matt lets out a gasp. "Are you giving him to me?”

"I want you to feel safe." Sherlock says sincerely. "Even when I'm not there with you."

Matt steps back and looks away. Sherlock knows he’s hit the mark.

"Thanks Shezza…" Matt says shyly, his arms wrapping now around the man. "I will take good care of him."

Sherlock just embraces him tightly before responding, "Any time, Matthew."

_He really feels that he is learning, and honestly, is not just about exotic animals._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed reading this chapter. Kisses and hugs.  
> If you take the time to read, please take time to comment.   
> Feel free to let me know what you think. Questions, suggestions, opinions, anything goes.   
>  Hugs and kisses.


	5. Five

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello. I'm back with a new chapter of this story.  
> I hope you enjoy it.  
> Thanks to NeverNik. Who helped me with this chapter and was kind to me.   
> Disclaimer: This fanfiction is not written for profit and no infringement of copyright is intended. Disclaimer: I don´t own Sherlock.   
> A hug, have a good day

In the time that John has known Sherlock Holmes, he can safely say that he has witnessed enough unreal things, ruthless murderers, villains with a thirst for unwavering vengeance, and absolutely incomprehensible crimes, for most normal people.

However none of this, has prepared him for observing the scene placed before his eyes.

"The incredible world of the alphabet," Sherlock announces with a dramatic turn of his hands.

He is sitting in front of the little boy, his hands full of colored papers with letters printed on it.

The child's face (Matthew) visibly lights up every couple of seconds before each correct answer he gives the detective. There is a matching smile on Sherlock's face.

He is happy. John can see that.

The blond man coughs, making his presence visible to everyone in the room.  Matt smiles at him and raises a hand in greeting.

Sherlock's gaze rests on John. He doesn’t say anything, he just acknowledges, understanding the conversation that is about to happen. He whispers something to the child and leaves the living room.

"I'm assuming his mother agrees that the child is with you."

Sherlock turns his head to glance at John.  "His nanny."

John makes a purely maternal noise of disapproval. "His nanny?" he asks indignantly. "Poor innocent woman! What manipulative trick have you used on her this time to get what you want? Trust you, with a child?" He sighs resignedly.

Sherlock smiles self-confidently. "I didn't do anything, just validly argued my point."

John looks at him, trying to decipher his words. "Which was?"

"It's perfectly safe for Matthew to spend a reasonable amount of time with me, based on mutual learning."

John gives him a contemplative look. "Have you thought about this thoroughly?"

Sherlock rolls his eyes at his question. "Consider what it means to have a child visit even for an hour or two each day, or once a week!"

The detective has the craftiness to look happy with the whole situation.

John isn't enjoying himself in the least, so he continues. "So, if I open the cabinets, I'll find food? Real food?"

Sherlock doesn't answer, so it seems to be one of those rare times when the man remains strangely calm.

"And when I open the refrigerator, I won’t find parts of bodies, organs or experiments that are considerably toxic for human consumption?" he says sarcastically.

Sherlock shakes his head at him. "He's perfectly safe here, John."

John snorts, unconvinced. "If the bullet holes in the wall are a signal, he’s not, Sherlock." Given the prospect of replicating, John continues. "Explosive, harmful or toxic substances that are in close proximity to a five-year-old child doesn't make him safe."

Sherlock is properly abashed… for a moment. Then he looks confident. "I will eliminate them!"

John's voice is a whisper. "He isn't an experiment!, you can't drug him in order to understand how his brain reacts, or make him eat something to observe the functioning of the substance that you are introducing into his system. He's a child, Sherlock!"

Sherlock’s reaction isn't the expected one. It comes in the form of a thud on the table. The type of thud that leaves a mark on the surface. His eyes are full of so many feelings that it's impossible to say that this man is someone who claims to be married to his work and not feel anything, or worry about anyone.

"I know." His voice is loaded with tangible emotion. "I do." Sherlock sighs. "I understand, that he's not an experiment. I just wouldn’t do anything to hurt him. EVER."

 John doesn't know what to make of that. He can only agree.

* * *

 

"Let's continue from when where John interrupted us abruptly." Sherlock lifts a paper with the letter L printed on it.  

"How educational of you," John comments, sitting in his chair with a smile.

Sherlock continues. "L is for..."

Matt bites his lips in deep concentration. "Lithium." He concentrates again. "Lutetium."

A smile escapes Sherlock’s lips. "Excellent, Matthew."

John looks confused, while his friend continues. Now the paper in Sherlock’s hand has the letter M on it.

"Magnesium." The boy responds quickly, and Sherlock could not look more proud. John is sure of that.

 "You know it doesn't work that way. " John remarks. "You have to teach him the letters, not the chemical elements. He's five years old. Dear Lord!"

Sherlock lets out a loud laugh. "It's never too early to learn, John."

John takes the piece of paper. "It's something like this. ‘M’ is for… Mom, monkey, man, mall, map, mail. "

"Medusa. " The child responds by referring to Greek mythology.

"Umm... Yeah. I suppose," John responds.

"Eloquent as always, John, " Sherlock jokes.

"You know what? You teach him. I'll go to sleep."John says and Sherlock takes that as a small victory.

* * *

 

To John's surprise, things change a bit.

As the days go by, there is more food and less body parts kept around the flat. Everything seems cleaner, somehow; more orderly.

Matthew's presence becomes noticeably more constant.

It's refreshing. The atmosphere that was once filled with shadows is replaced by the glow that the smiling child emits.

Sherlock looks happier, and in his rare form of happiness, smiles more.

Mrs. Hudson, who at first was convinced that the child was the detective’s experiment or another case of a lost child, is now the doting grandmother.

She bakes as many sweets as she can, and looks for the excuses she didn't have before to eat them.

Greg appears a few days later.

"Wow, he's an Inspector, a detective, Sherlock!" Matt yells, louder than necessary. "WOW! from Scotland Yard!”

Sherlock nods, avoiding rolling his eyes at the little one’s obvious joy. "I see you’ve met Graham."

The man gives him a look of disgust and drops his bag on the ground. His gaze rests on the child, who jumps from one side to the other. "Do you want to hear another story, Matthew?" Greg asks with a smile. "There are many that you’ll surely like."

Sherlock grimaces at that. However, ignoring the situation around him, the boy shouts again with enthusiasm. "Yes, Yes!"

But that's just the beginning.

For two full weeks Matt seems ecstatic with Greg’s presence, repeats every words that comes out of his mouth and imitates each of his movements.

He even uses one of the police shirts that Greg has given him. To Sherlock's annoyance.

But that just keeps on only being the beginning.

Mycroft appears thirteen days later, to everyone's surprise.

And the emotion Matt felt for Graham is multiplied exponentially for the older brother. Sherlock assures him that it’s because Matt believes he is a type of spy.

For Mycroft, it takes some time to adapt to the child.

* * *

 

The first time Mycroft sees him. It's by mistake. Accidental.

It started as something simple. A shock that comes from one of the rooms, followed by a series of steps. Half a second later, a boy jumps in, out of breath, as if he's just run a great distance and looking a lot like an excited puppy. Mycroft Holmes gives him a serious look, while inspecting the little one is in front of him. He’s sure he hasn’t seen him before. Unruly hair, deep green eyes and a hint of freckles that’s almost too adorable, accompanied by a tender smile.

A smile that disappears from his face as soon as his eyes focus on the stranger man in the room.

The child takes a step back, clearly altered by his presence. His hands are clenched into fists. The child stares at him from head to toe, resting his gaze on the classic umbrella that rests in his hand.

Mycroft takes a tentative step forward, analyzing the new child. Automatically, the child's eyes open in horror at the sound on the floor.

He is scared, Mycroft´s first deduction.

Five years old, middle -class, if his clothes are a sign.

Blue t-shirt with white edges and a pirate print on it.

Casual trousers, brown shoes, slightly scuffed at the tip, worn at the predominance of both heels.  Dog fur on his clothes.

Average intelligence.

Unable to maintain his gaze for a long time. Bites his lower lip, a sign of nervousness before strangers. Shy, introverted for social encounters.

Old bruises on the left forearm. Right radial fracture two years ago, treated and overcome.

The child was previously mistreated by a father figure.

There are scrapes on his left upper limb; a hand mark on his right shoulder. The boy was recently pushed. By a taller and stronger child.

He’s being currently mistreated by his companions.

His look is a mixture of innocence and a terror. The eldest of the Holmes brothers, finds himself strangely wanting to know more about this boy, who looks so much like another boy with kind eyes, a taste for pirates and the desire to have a dog.

His heart sinks a little, recognizing the commonalities with his younger brother.

Mycroft takes another step closer, and the child's breathing increases. He takes two steps back, then his feet collide with the chair that Sherlock claims as his ‘thinking chair.’

He's about to speak when a hand on his shoulder stops him.

"Enough scaring of the boy, Mycroft," Mrs. Hudson rebukes. "Leave that for the men you chase."

"Of course!" He responds dryly without a grimace. He can feel the child's eyes cataloging him again. He’s calmer with the presence of the older woman in the room. "Since my baby brother isn’t here, I say my goodbyes. Excuse me."

With that, he leaves the room, not without hearing the woman's words.

"Don’t be scared Mattie, that was Sherlock's brother, Mycroft. He’s a very serious man, but he cares a lot about his brother. "

He permits a smile to curve his face; he’s too far away to hear the child’s response.

* * *

 

The second time it happens. Mycroft doesn't knowing what to do., He’s completely baffled.

His steps are slow as he goes down the stairs. He can hear Mrs. Hudson's incessant chatter over the phone as she prepares one of her famous cranberry cakes.

He continues to his destination. There are more important matters to discuss than the new boyfriend of Mrs. Hudson's niece.

He stops in the room to see the same child sitting in one of the armchairs without concern. A chocolate biscuit adorns his left hand and a game control is in his right.

And that is the moment in which, their eyes meet. The boy’s great green orbs detail him in his totality, so Mycroft expects to see terror in his eyes again, the increase in his breathing, and the slight tremor of his lower lip.

But that doesn't happen.

He is greeted with a smile full of white teeth and a bright look.

"I was scared the last time. I'm sorry," he says totally relaxed.

Mycroft’s face must show a grimace of confusion, because the child continues talking.

"It's impolite to judge people without knowing them." He takes a breath, looks at the ground quickly and then his gaze falls on him. "I'm sorry."

Average intelligence? Scratch that. It's the first thing Mycroft thinks.

The child leaves the biscuit on the table, places the game control on his seat and jumps up.

Mycroft watches the gesture without saying anything.

The child walks towards him. He comes to a stop in front of Mycroft and smiles. His eyes are kind and full of so much brilliance that the older brother can not help but smile back.

"I'm Matthew James Hooper.  Nice to meet you."

"Nice to meet you, Matthew. I'm Mycroft Holmes." His voice is husky, he tries not to sound intimidating. The child doesn't shrink or tremble, so he takes it as a good thing.

Matt quickly takes his hand. Mycroft gasps at this gesture, his small hand warm and comforting. He leads him to the chair and offers him the rest of the biscuits. Matt gives him another smile.

"Sherlock isn't here. He’s solving a case, but he’ll be back soon," he assured him with too much confidence for a five-year-old child.

One side of himself is, very different from the one Mycroft saw previously.

"Inspector Greg said I couldn't go," he pouts. "He said it was a very violent scene for someone of my height."

Mycroft snorts. He doesn't say? The Inspector uses his brain to think. Mycroft is horrified at the idea of the little smiling boy coming face -to -face with the grim, bloody scenarios that often grab his brother's attention. Matt is an innocent child. Too innocent.

Matthew's voice takes him out of his thoughts. "It doesn't bother me, because I'm going to grow up soon."

Mycroft’s lips curve, but if someone asks, he’ll refuse to say it's a smile.

Matt responds with a funny laugh.

He tells Mycroft how small he is now, but that the growth of his bones is progressing, so he will be taller next year. Her teacher said it in class, and she never lies about anything.

 Then he talks about what he learned today about the Stone Age. He tells Mycroft, who listens attentively, how he wants to learn about all the ages. Shezza. Mycroft rolls his eyes at the nickname. He’s told him that he will teach him everything he should know, because there are silly and absurd things that do not need to occupy the space in his brain.

Mycroft is surprised to find himself smiling at the child's words. Great words. He has misjudged him; he’s  too smart to be five years old.

He takes another biscuit, his third. The chat seems to have stopped, so Mycroft signals to the game, then to the TV screen.

"It's the medieval game of John. You walk through the villages competing against dragons, knights and magicians. You have to save the princess to win the game." He explains as if he’s an expert in the matter, moving his hands to indicate his point. "You can try it if you want. It's very easy."

"John is the doctor, Shezza is the dragon, and I am the magician." He enumerates slowly without stopping, looking at him. "You can have your own character." He points excitedly.

Mycroft finds that he simply can not resist.       

"And who should I be?" he asks seriously.

Matt does not disappoint. He laughs, takes another bite of his biscuit, then speaks. "The black knight. Of course. "

Mycroft gives him a completely youthful look. "Of course."

* * *

 

"I told you." He flutters his fingers at Sherlock dismissively with a smirk. "Twins. "

He chuckles and responds. "For aesthetic surgery, not for genetics, John. "

The blonde is about to reply when a sharp cry is heard. Matthew.

"No, no!"... Matt yells.

They don't think a second more. They both run desperately down the stairs.

Matt keeps screaming, so between them they fling down the door with a thud.

Silence falls. His blood freezes. Sherlock is clearly looking for the possible trace of danger in the environment. He breathes intensely, focusing on what’s in front of his eyes.

Matt's mouth is open, like his eyes. He focuses on the door, firmly rooted on the ground.

Mycroft looks equally surprised. His hair is slightly disheveled, the jacket of his suit leans on the seat next to him and, a game control is in his right hand.

A plate is set on the table, sprinkled with the crumbs of biscuits.

An animated noise brings everyone back to the screen. And boom.! Game over.

"No... No.!" Matt screams.  "You almost won Mikey.! "

John looks at the knocked down door, the child, then the Holmes brothers. Then the ridiculousness comes to him, and he bursts into laughter.

“Jesus! We thought that…”

However, the disapproving look on Sherlock's face says what his mouth doesn't.

Mycroft gets up, shaking the biscuit crumbs from his clothes. He puts on his suit jacket and looks as serious as the first time he entered the building.

"Can I have a word, brother?” Sherlock asks, as his eyebrows furrow. 

"Unfortunately, I have stayed longer than expected. I must go, urgent matters to attend, dear brother. "

Matt frowns at him. He pouts. Sherlock's jaw tenses.

"Can we play again, another day?" Matt’s voice is quiet; he's afraid to ask him.

It breaks Sherlock's heart. It breaks because he knows the answer. He knows Mycroft too much.

He waits, for the pain, the serious words, the disdain in his voice.

But none of that comes.

The older brother rests his hand on the child's shoulder.  "I would love to. Maybe, you can teach me those magic tricks, which I've heard so much about. "

Matt's answer comes in the form of a genuine laugh. "Sure.!"

He says goodbye to an astonished-looking John.

When Mycroft arrives at his vehicle, he counts the seconds, and turns around in perfect synchrony to look at his brother, standing at the door of 221B Baker Street.

The question remains long enough in his eyes for Mycroft to conveniently read it _. <Why?>_

"If a five-year-old child invites you to play, you answer affirmatively." Mycroft pauses dramatically. "It's about common courtesy, dear brother. "

Sherlock doesn't believe him. There’s something else there. But he isn't able to work out what it is.

He probably won’t do it for a while.

Not until it's too late. Mycroft thinks sadly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TBC…  
> I hope you are with me in this story. There is a fun trip to tell.  
> If you take the time to read, please take time to comment.   
> Feel free to let me know what you think. Questions, suggestions, opinions, anything goes.  
> Kisses and hugs.


	6. Six: The pathologist and the boy with the superhero cape

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello. I'm back.   
> First I want to thank all those people who read my story; It is amazing the support I had. Thank you very much indeed, means a lot to me that they like my story. I really thank all who have encouraged me to continue this story.  
> I hope you enjoy this chapter.  
> Thanks to NeverNik. Who helped me with this chapter and was kind to me.   
> I invite you to read my new story: You make me smile.   
> Disclaimer: This fanfiction is not written for profit and no infringement of copyright is intended. Disclaimer: I don´t own Sherlock.   
> A hug, have a good day

 

**Six: The pathologist and the boy with the superhero cape.**

The months have gone by without any real fun. The cases have settled in a strong number five: the calls, the emails with boring messages and equally boring facts don't stop arriving.

Sherlock can only hope that some serial killer comes out to play and he can have fun with them.

However, that seems a distant possibility.

He walks steadily towards the morgue. Next to him, John Watson tries to catch up by holding his breath, as if it will help accelerate his pace.

 Sherlock opens the doors with a dramatic gesture, arranges his coat and observes the interior.

The eyes of those present focus on him. Mike, Lestrade and Donovan have questions in their eyes; questions that only he can answer.

He smacks his lips with a grimace and stops to look at the corpse.

Lestrade speaks, presenting the facts, but his voice doesn't reach Sherlock's ears. He’s too distracted, observing the perfection with which the woman holds the scalpel. It's not that he hasn't seen that technique done a hundred times before by other equally trained professionals; it's simply that her manual ability makes his heart rate increase.

God. He’s never seen a Y-cut so perfectly done before.

Her hands move with the synchronicity of a painter, sketching painted colors on a blank canvas. Her strokes are harmonious and melodious with the position her body adopts when she moves.

And if that weren’t enough, her voice is the final complement - that of an angel. Soft, serene, gentle. Her whispers are precise words describing the body in front of her, so Sherlock can only admire her in great detail for what seems to be only minutes.

The sound of the tape recorder stops, the silence fills the air, and for the first time Sherlock Holmes feels lost - the angelic voice has left only noise in his mind as it passes through.

It's disconcerting, to tell the truth.

Even more disconcerting is hergaze. Her chocolates eyes shine when they look at him. those eyes in what he might lose himself and never want to meet again; greet him with a language that he can't understand... doesn't want to understand.

His heart beats fast. He purses his lips, wanting to evade the sensation.

Then she does the unthinkable. She smiles.

And his world moves from one place to another.

He's hit with one of the strongest sensations he’s felt in years. His heart beats at a disconcertingly high rate, his hands sweat and his stomach twists. He's sure that his pupils dilate before her beautiful smile, but it's a fact that erases instantly.

He shakes his head and turns to Mike. "Someone has heard my pleas. A competent pathologist has come to this forgotten hospital of God."

John laughs. Donovan rolls her eyes and Mike smiles openly, as if he will keep an internal secret.

She smiles even more. And Sherlock hates what a woman can make him feel.

He hates the way his mind seems to freeze at her look, her smile.

This has to stop. It's his first coherent thought.

"Hi! we met before. I’m .." she starts, but he stops her on the spot.

"A woman, single, 34 years old, of Irish origin, non-practicing Catholic." Sherlock's voice is cold.

This doesn’t bose well, John thinks.

"You lived in London for a lot of your childhood until your parents decided to move. They both died during your adolescence, which led you to study medicine. You thought you could help cure cancer, but you ended up disappointed that it wasn't quite like that, and you stayed in pathology - much simpler, less complicated emotions to deal with. "

"Sherlock," John warns, but he is far from dropping it.

"The outstanding young woman in classes, the best of her class, the woman who cried in the dark wondering about all those tragedies she had to live through."

His voice drops an octave, dangerously, releasing deduction after deduction.

"Tell me: was it your father's death that made you try to end your life or was it your brother's overdose?"

John lets out a sound of astonishment, while Lestrade's eyes open wide.

Her lips form a grimace, a goodbye smile. Goodbye dreamy eyes.

Well, she will learn, he says to himself, ignoring the weight taking hold of his chest as her eyes fall. She wants to cry, he can see it. However, she makes a great effort to avoid it.

"You're wrong," she says, and he blinks in surprise. "My father didn't die in my adolescence, it was six years ago. I don't have a brother and I've never tried to end my life." She takes off her latex gloves and shows the marks on her wrists to create a point.

Sherlock watches her more closely. His lip trembles with irritation.

"The marks are from dragging, an old accident, not by cutting." She shrugs, her eyes level with his. Her expression has changed.

He couldn't believe she corrected him.

"It's easy to know, if you can observe well, but this hasn't been the case, right, Mr. Holmes?"

The dry closing of the morgue doors of the morgue gives Molly the answer.

John looks surprised, but he proudly applauds the woman in front of him.

"That was incredible!"

"The imbecile, for once in life has been silenced, in good time," Sally celebrates, laughing.

But that's just their first interaction.

* * *

 

Two days pass before he sees her again.

She's sitting at one of the open-air tables at the local cafeteria, near the hospital. Her hair flutters against the wind, shining brightly in the warm sunlight.

The pages of _Pride and Prejudice_ flutter with her interest overflowing, while her pink lips curve in a lost smile before each written word.

The coffee by her side has cooled; it has been forgotten.

But he isn't paying attention. Not really. And much less at her.

Not definitively, he wasn't thinking about her. Nor about what her mere presence seems to do to his limbic system, much less to his heart.

Even if he was, the thought doesn't last long, as the heavy voice of the waitress reaches his ears.

"Do you still want your coffee?"

His lips close in a deep line, letting out a snort.

He clicks his tongue, turns his gaze away and continues on his way, wanting to forget her flowing hair and her beautiful pink lips.

It's only the second time that he has noticed her.

* * *

 

He manages to sneak into the laboratory.

Silence welcomes him, as he places petri dishes under the lens of the microscope. His hands move delicately to focus on the piece. The fast-growing colonies cover practically the entire surface of thedish, of a consistent appearance, with dense aerial mycelium, cottony; at first white, then dark gray. He smiles like a child with a new sweet. _Rhizopus_ , the mold growing on Ms. Hudson's floor has grown again, forming an impressive colony.

Matthew will be equally impressed to see his achievement. Sherlock's smile grows even more, thinking about how animated Matt will be - the questions he will ask and how his own answers will generate greater knowledge in the child about the world of fungi.

He's about to replace the petridish, when his movements are stopped by the sound of laughter that echoes and filters in the laboratory.

Sherlock rolls his eyes, both for a moment of tranquility.

He can hear Anna's loud laugh, the redhead waitress mixed with a much softer, melodious laugh.

Sherlock looks for the source of the sound.

"I'm sorry," Anna apologizes with a wave of her hand, picks up the dirty items, following her path and leaving the pathologist in front of him.

The pathologist, with her oversized sweater of horrible colors and her inability to hide what she feels.

Fury swirls in the air, along with another emotion that he can't decipher.

Sherlock's eyes roam her face. Her deep chocolate eyes, her small, upturned nose, her small pink lips. He must admit that she's beautiful, in a weird way.

His lips close in a deep line, letting out a snort.

Since when had she become a piece of admiration for him?

She isn't.

Another laugh. She seems funny with her gestures as she enters the room. She bites her lips and smiles with curiosity.

His treacherous heart beats fast when her brown eyes alight on his blue eyes.

The laboratory suddenly feels much smaller.

Strange.

Sherlock looks away. He is dedicated to continuing his work.

She takes a few steps and stops in front of him, making him quickly tense. "What are you working on?" she asks.

"Nothing."

"It does't look like anything." She insists.

"Colonies of Rhizopus."

He responds irritably. He knows it's a waste of time to talk about this kind of thing with people whose intellect is inferior.

The silence returns, and he thinks he’s frightened her, until she speaks again.

"Can I see?" she asks with curiosity. Her eyes light up, and his heart skips.

Damn woman and her effect on him.

He steps aside, allowing her to observe the next plaque.

The pathologist smiles animatedly, takes two steps and bows.

A chill runs through his body when her heat absorbs him. "Trichophyton," she begins. Her voice is soft, and her breath is hot on his neck.

He closes his eyes, swallows and nods. "It's a genus of fungi that are characterized by the development of smooth-walled macroconidia and microconidia. In most cases, macroconidia are attached laterally and directly to the hyphae or in short pedicels. They can be thick or thin, nailed walls to fusiform, and from 4 to 8 by 8 to 50 μm in size, macroconidia are few or absent in many species." She recites this happily, as if she’s talking about the weather.

Sherlock lets out a sigh that he didn't know he was holding when he heard her words. Her words leave him breathless, they are a breath of fresh air, it's something new for him to talk about his interests with someone who can really understand them. Very different from the conversations he had with Mary, if they can be considered conversations. But again, why is he comparing Mary with the pathologist?

Sherlock omits that line of thought.

"How?"

She laughs. "Don’t my body language, my clothes tell you anything?" Molly asks, raising her eyebrows.

Sherlock almost smiles at that. Keyword: almost.

"I worked for one year in a microbiology laboratory when I was fifteen years old."

Sherlock crosses hisarms. His posture speaks volumes about his arrogance. "I had my own improvised microbiology laboratory at home when I was nine years old."

She bites her lip, laughing. "I had my first microscope at six years old."

He doesn't offer a truce. "I got my first chemistry set at four years old. A Christmas gift."

"God." She laughs again. And he finds himself smiling at that. "That's hard to beat."

Her laughter calms down.

She takes a breath and watches him closely.

"What is it?" Sherlock asks, seeing her expression, not wanting to throw inferences at her.

She shakes her head fervently. "Nothing. I realize you're not who I thought you were. You're much better, that's all."

His forehead wrinkles. "You have a very high perception of someone you just met."

She thinks and elaborates her answer. "I have a gift for reading people."

He's about to reply, but she stops him. "My name is Molly...”

"I know, I remember."

Her smile illuminates the room for a long time after she's gone.

He should hateher. But he finds himself smiling every time he remembers the exchange.

It's only the third time that Sherlock Holmes looks at her.

* * *

 

**A week later**

He drops newspaper after newspaper on top ofwhat corresponds to be Mrs Hudson’s dining table , feeling the wood trembling at the weight.

"Hey, watch out, down here! Superhero working!" a little voice shouts under the table.

"Matthew! What are you doing there?" Sherlock looks at him in disbelief when he sees him under the table. John giggles.

The child is wearing a red cape tied around his neck. It's the fifth day in a row Matt is wearing that cape, with no plans to take it off. Thanks to Superman and his movie.

"I'm on a secret mission, but I can't tell you more," Matt whispers very, very low.

"Then continue with your important mission," John adds smiling, while the boy continues to whisper words to his invisible enemies.

"I don't want to ask what's going on here, because I'm imagining it," the blonde woman says when she enters the room and sees the amount of paper, including newspapers spread all over the floor.

"Data collection," Sherlock says matter-of-factly. "To find the new killer."

Mary's eyes open with terror. "And that's my signal to leave. Come on, Matt."

The boy frowns, leaving his hiding place. "But I don't want to."

"We'll buy cookies on the way. We have to let Sherlock work." Mary says that because it’ll be sure to distract the child.

But that doesn't happen. Matt pouts and crosses his arms. "I want to stay.! I can help Shezza with his level nine case.

She glares at Sherlock as her lips form a stern grimace. She has made it clear, on several occasions, that she doesn't want her precious and innocent child being exposed to murderers or cases at level eight or nine.

Sherlock approaches the child, and with a tenderness that he only keeps for him, and caresses his brown hair.

"I'll tell you everything about the case tomorrow. We can solve it together."

Matt nods. "Do you want me to lend you my cape?" He asks. "If you have it on, it's impossible for you to be afraid. You’ll beat the bad guys faster", the boy explains, waving his red cloak with a big M embroidered in gold, in the wind.

Sherlock smiles, placing a kiss on his forehead. "It's your cape, you're the superhero."

And that does the trick, thinks Mary when, with a lively smile, Matt says goodbye.

* * *

It's three-thirty in the morning when the doors of his apartment open after a loud knocking. Mrs. Hudson takes a step inside, closely followed by Inspector Lestrade.

Sherlock shouts, making one of his dramatic entrances, unfolding the doors of his room wide. His footsteps resonate on the floor, as he runs his hands through his rebellious curls. "Gaston."

"Greg." John Watson corrects him, who awoke before all the commotion.

Sherlock gives him a puzzled look.  John just rolls his eyes.

Greg opens hismouth, but doesn't make any sound.

John looks at him with concern.

Sherlock sets his sights on the Inspector. Lestrade's hair is a mess in all directions, very different from his perfectly done hairstyle. His face looks dejected, tired. But the most important thing is his hands. They are occupied by a transparent bag, which contains a red cape, stained with what appears to be blood.

A red cape with a large M embroidered in gold.

Mrs. Hudson lets out a sob.

And in that instant, Sherlock's heart breaks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TBC…   
> I hope you are with me in this story. There is a fun trip to tell.  
> If you take the time to read, please take time to comment.   
> Kisses and hugs.  
> I invite you to read my new story: You make me smile.


	7. The witch and the candy house.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello. I'm back.  
> First I want to thank all those people who read my story; It is amazing the support I had. Thank you very much indeed, means a lot to me that they like my story. I really thank all who have encouraged me to continue this story.  
> I hope you enjoy this chapter.  
> Thanks to NeverNik. Who helped me with this chapter and was kind to me.  
> Disclaimer: This fanfiction is not written for profit and no infringement of copyright is intended. Disclaimer: I don´t own Sherlock.  
> A hug, have a good day

** Two weeks before **

He's a man with a strong body; a powerful scowl and voluminous brown hair combed back; They make him look like a fierce young businessman. He wears dark pants, a white shirt and a fitted jacket, perfectly made to order. Sitting at his desk, he thinks about his life in recent years; although the circumstances weren't in his favor in the past, now he had enough power to have the world at his feet, and that made him feel quite satisfied.

He looks obsessively at the pictures adorning the walls of his study; a beautiful woman with lovely brown eyes fills the room with her majestic smile. He can almost taste the smell of her perfume and the softness of her brown hair; He wants her. He’s never stopped wanting her; she remains his main trophy.

"You're mine," he says to one of the photos while removing a cigar from a mahogany box and lighting it up.

The world returns when the incessant noise of the phone diverts the wave of thoughts that consume him.

"Sir, we found them," declares a strong voice on the line.

"How are they?" he asks without a hint of emotion in his voice. "Do you have all the details that I asked you for?"

"Yes," answers the voice. "A report should be arriving in a few moments if my calculations are correct; you will see all the relevant details of their lives."

"Well done, Adams!" the man says. "You will be well paid; the money will be in your account within an hour, and you know; not a word to anyone; you don’t know what I’m capable of."

"Perfect, sir, Goodbye," says the voice on the other end before hanging up.

He found them; it was just a matter of time. He knows that a man as powerful as he always gets what he wants, and this time wasn’t any different.

She was his, after all. Margaret Ann Hooper was his, forever and ever.

 

* * *

 

**_ The witch and the candy house. _ **

 

_Matt nods."Do you want me to lend you my cape?" he asks. "If you have it on, it's impossible for you to be afraid. You’ll beat the bad guys faster", he explains, waving his red cloak with a big M embroidered in gold, in the wind._

A bright smile illuminates his face and Sherlock's heart breaks at the memory.

"Sherlock."  Lestrade says calmly. "They found a body."

* * *

 

 

He hasn't been able to say a word, only run down Baker Street to the morgue.

His hands tremble as he takes the transparent bag. The possible scenarios run through his mind. And suddenly he feels as if he can’t breathe.

_"Help me, help me Shezza!" Matt´s little hands bang on the door. "Help me!" he screams. "Get me out, please, please!"_

_A piercing cry escapes from his body. "Please, please stop it!” shouts the small boy, sobbing.  “Stop it!” He is screaming, kicking the door, snot dripping out of his nose. He closes his eyes tightly._

_His voice seems broken, as if he has lost something very dear to him. Sherlock’s heart must have shrunk at Matt’s much smaller voice, full of pain._

_"No, no, no!" the small boy shouts, immersed in darkness. "Please, don´t let him hurt me, please Shezza!"_

Sherlock’s hands close on the bag. His heart beats loudly, and a scream escapes his mouth.

John is by his side in an instant. Sherlock doesn't know how they arrived, nor how long they took, but the dark letters mark the entrance of the BARTS compound.

Sherlock wrings his hands, then quickly opens the lock.

"We found a coincidence." A new voice greets him.

"What did you say?" Sherlock whips his head around, his cold, emotionless gaze setting on the pale young man, dressed in a white lab coat and plastic glasses. He's a child, no older than 26 years.

"We found" he starts, but Sherlock cuts him off with a curt gesture of his hand.

"Who the hell are you, and where is Molly?"

"I...”

"I’m losing my patience, boy! Talk!,  Now!" He barks the order outs with a menacing look, resisting the urge to take him by the shoulders and shake him violently.

"Sherlock, leave the kid alone!" Lestrade intercepts, calming the situation.

The young man turns pale before the detective’s the threatening face.

His lips move quickly as he responds. "She's in a conference for five days, sir. I'm helping out while she's absent."

Sherlock rolls his eyes and grunts.

It's now Lestrade who speaks to the young man. "Did you say ’coincidence’?"

The young man, Jeremias, nods. His steps are quick and somewhat imprecise when he pulls the tray out of the fridge, bringing the body with him. It takes him two full minutes to display it before the eyes of those present. "The blood tests results arrived."

Lestrade's voice is uncertain. "Um ... The blood that was on the cape?" He feels the environment changes. He feels how the detective’s cold face next to him falls for a few seconds until he's able to recompose himself and return to his cold facade. However, Lestrade can see through the farce, the intensity of his eyes screams of worry and terror.

Lestrade wants to say something, anything, but he doesn't know what.

He's only able to watch Jeremias nod, and open his mouth to speak, but it's Sally who ends up answering.

"It's positive for the sample taken from this body and from the scene in the apartment."

Sherlock lets out a shocked noise, his heart beating loudly in his ears.

Lestrade, Sally, John and Anderson's incompetent replacement speak, quoting facts, but he can’t hear them. Not anymore.

* * *

 

 

John grimaces in disgust, and runs his hands over his nose, trying to evaporate the smell of rotting meat filling the room.

At his side, Lestrade doesn _'_ t seem to be any better; his gaze rests on the wall at the back of the morgue, trying to avoid looking at the body lying under the sheet.

"Burned to death to avoid identification." Sally whispers under her breath.

"I don't think that's true, they found her in her apartment," Anderson argues with a grimace. "The neighbors called the firemen, when the smoke kept coming out of their apartment. When they arrived; there wasn’t much they could do."

"It sounds like revenge," Sally continues, sliding the photo of her coat so that it falls on the table before everyone's eyes.

A word stands out in the image, WITCH.

Blood spreads across the white wall like an abstract painting, the masterpiece of a mad man, a religious or a new fan.

John's eyes fall to meet a circle made with different types of candy. A circle surrounding a woman. She kneels on her back, completely naked. Her hands and feet are firmly tied by white rope. Her greasy, black hair sticks to her face, and her lips are covered by gray tape. Her chest is a deformed grimace with seven dark bruises, edema and fractured bones, complemented by two equally fractured legs. The fire burns behind her.

"Sofia Marquez, 35. Widow, former cosmetics sales woman, a car accident left her blind two years ago. With her background, we find a list of entrances and exits from the jail, all paid through bonds. Armed robbery in 2010, and 2012. She was allegedly involved in the murder of Marcos Moreno, drug dealer, in 2014 in Manchester; the Police could never prove her guilt. Seven complaints of domestic violence against her son, all in the same year." Lestrade recites out loud, as his eyes become lost in the police report.

The small pathologist clears his throat, making the group of people notice him.

"There are missing parts in her teeth, and abrasions on her lower back indicating that she was dragged before being burned. There are old injuries, multiple fractures to the bones of the left hand, right tarsus and anterior ribs." The young man takes a breath inspired by his analysis. "There are also mutilated areas of her skull, but that's not the highlight." Jeremiah shakes his head emphatically. "I found numerous wraps in both the digestive tract and her stomach. You know the same candies that form a circle around her in the photo?. "He indicates with emphasis at the photo, and exhales again." I sent the compound to be analyzed, but I'm sure those candies are filled with a poisonous toxin. "

"Evidently." The word bursts out hard from Sherlock _'s_ lips.

John doesn't say anything about his outburst. He just shakes his head, not knowing how to act.

However, it’s not the discreet gestures that makes John’s heart shrink.

On the other side of the morgue, Jeremias looks nervous, constantly biting his lip.

"Speaks." Sherlock growls.

Jeremia’s mouth opens and closes. His eyes are big and innocent, and by the look that Sherlock gives him, he knows that his next words will destroy his already battered heart.

"The firemen found another body. " Jeremias says.

Sherlock's hands begin to tremble. His mouth feels dry and his heart is a rock that occupies his chest. "A child. Between five and six years of age."

John turns to him, shock filling his face.

"Sherlock…"

But the detective can’t handle it. Not John’s sympathetic face, not Jeremia’s intelligent analysis. No, Sherlock doesn’t want anything. There are too many emotions running through his veins.  He doesn’t want to deal with anything else.

"Bring the body. I want to see him". he says roughly.

 

* * *

 

The pathologist opens the bag containing the body slowly, almost gently, in a way similar to what Molly does, but much less elaborate.

He runs a hand through his hair, trying to regain some control over the situation.

Sherlock’s steps are slow, trembling when he approaches the child's body. He sighs, preparing for the worst.

_"Here's your daddy, Matt." he remembers  saying._  
  
His mind has conjured a sea of memories that flood his soul, while the dull weight of the pain settles in his chest and refuses to leave.

_"You came!". Matt exclaims excited when the first tears are on his cheeks and a cry of surprise escapes from the mouths of many of his peers. His green eyes sparkle with kindness that Sherlock can feel in the bottom of his stomach. "Thank you". Matt whispers._

_"I just believed in my new favorite superhero that's all." Sherlock says._

The emotion within him builds. He writhes, wants to get it out  of his chest, but another moment appears.

_"You know, no bad person can touch you anymore." Sherlock says with a soft tone in his voice. He rest a firm hand on Matt_ ’s _shoulder "I am with you. You and your mother are safe."_

_"Thank you, Sherlock," he says, hugging him gently._

_"No, Matthew. Thank you for being here. You're the real superhero. " Sherlock strokes his hair tenderly._

Ironically, Sherlock cries for what he never had. What he never even wanted to have, but found in a five-year-old child.

_"Sherlock!" Matthew calls him, seriosness loading his voice._

_"Yes, little one."_

_"If you don_ ’t _get your Grace today," Matt hesitates a moment... "I'm your friend"._

_"And you're the best friend in the world that I could have."_

_"I want you to feel safe." Sherlock says sincerely. "Even when I'm not there with you."_

Liar, says his mind with a macabre laugh.

Liar! screams his body, clenching its fists.

Liar! shouts the atmosphere that surrounds him, the penumbrance of death marking everything in its path.

_"_ Sherlock! _"_ John calls, and it _'_ s at that moment that he realizes that his eyes are completely closed.

Traitorous tears escape from his beautiful blue eyes.

Lestrade's voice falters when he speaks. _"_ Open your eyes, Sherlock. _"_

Sherlock takes a deep breath. Opens his eyes slowly. His heart is hammering in his ears, his pulse is accelerated but his legs begin to fail.

And then he sees him.

The sleeping angel on the table, the five-year-old angel.

_"_ Matthew, _"_ his voice is a muffled murmur.

His legs give way and he falls to a kneel in front of the examination table.

Tears run down his face as he lets out a sob.

The man without a heart

The man married to his work.

That same man cries in the morgue… cries for a lost angel.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TBC…  
> You already know what to do.  
> Let me know what you think. Theories?  
> I hope you are with me in this story. There is a fun trip to travel.  
> PS: I invite you to read my new story: You Make Me Smile.


	8. The clown and the innocent child.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi.   
> Thanks to NeverNik. Who helped me with this chapter and was kind to me.   
> I invite you to read my new story: You make me smile.   
> Disclaimer: This fanfiction is not written for profit and no infringement of copyright is intended. I don´t own Sherlock.   
> A hug, have a good day

"Matthew. _"_  His voice is a muffled murmur.

His legs give way and he falls to a kneel in front of the examination table.

Jeremias looks at him, frowning. Quickly he corrects him. "Michael Marquez. Five years and six months."

Sherlock raises his head and glares at the boy on the table, his body still shaking.

"Sherlock"  Lestrade says try to calm him.

John remains at his post without even batting an eye.

There’s  a collective relief because the child on the table isn’t Matthew, but there’s a sense of heaviness in the depths of their hearts. It's not Matt, but it's another innocent child. An innocent who died at the hands of a madman.

The consulting detective gets up quickly. He breathes deeply, while his hands erase the tears that stain his face. He fixes his coat and leaving, slamming the doors of the morgue behind him.

John sighs. This just indicates that the storm is coming.

"It seems he was asleep." Sally says looking at the little angel that lies in the tray, immobile.

"There are no contusions, no blows, and no fractures. At least not those that can be considered new. The tests reveal that there is a very high percentage of insulin injected into his body between eight o'clock at night."

"He was Diabetic." John whispers. It's not a question, just an affirmation.

Jeremias nods.  "His body could not support the amount of insulin provided, his organs failed quickly."

Silence falls into the environment. The inspector's lips contract with fury as he lets his gaze fall on the child again.

A monster. That is the kind of people who are capable of killing a child.

However, they will find it. He will pay dearly for everything he has done.

If something is, Lestrade is sure of it. Sherlock will not let this abomination continue to commit atrocities in the city, especially if another innocent child is in his sights.

"Thanks for your help, doctor. Please inform us when having the results of the toxicological analysis."

* * *

 

"The child didn't suffer. He died peacefully while he slept. I think we can thank our killer for that." His cold words sneak into his body like a bullet, breaking everything in its path.

Sherlock looks up to meet his stoic expression.

"I warned you, dear brother."

However, Sherlock doesn't respond.

"You're letting your emotions get the better of you," Mycroft grunts.

Sherlock grits his teeth as he answers. "¿What are you doing here? The government has no better things to do with their time than play to chase vengeful killers?"

Mycroft laughs ironically.  "The government is deeply concerned that its main piece for the resolution of problems of international conflict can break like glass when he thinks that his golden fish is lost.  "

Sherlock clenches his fists tightly. His older brother has always had the ability to infuriate him quickly.

"Sentiment is a chemical defect."

His lips join in a thin line."We'll agree to disagree on that one."

Mycroft shakes his head disdainfully. There is a kind of disappointment that shows in his eyes, but Sherlock doesn't dare to mention it. "I knew, from the first moment I saw the child. I knew it. You believe that the innocence that he irradiates can save your battered soul, he reminds you of a part of you that is no longer there."Mycroft gives him a sad smile. "But the truth is dear brother, you are dragging him into darkness."

"Look at you, crying like a child who lost his pet and doesn't know how to recover it. You can't even join the pieces in your mind and see what you've done wrong." His next words are poison. "All the feeling has clouded you. Pity. "

His fingers tightened on his hands, jaw clenching. "No," he says simply.

Mycroft grimaces. "No?" He repeats with disbelief.

"He taught me kindness, innocence, friendship, love," His voice is deep, hard. "Matt made me strong. Stronger than it had ever been in my life. And that dear older brother, it isn't weakness. It's strength. But that's something you don't know anything about. Pity. "

The face of the eldest of the brothers falls. He is about to speak when…

"Can I know why the British government takes me out of my house at five in the morning with a sleeping child?" Mary's voice echoes in the corridors of the morgue.

A puzzled look on Sherlock's face, he gives his brother a questioning look.

"You let the feeling incapacitate you and these are the things that happen," Mycroft crosses his shoulders. "The police team couldn't contact the nanny, knowing their inability to deduce something more and betting on your emotional response to imagine a tragic scenario that will involve the child, I decided to take things by my own means. I went in search of Miss Morstan."

There is nothing more he can do or say about it. He can only swallow the cocktail of emotions he feels at this moment.

"You see, but you don't observe, little brother." Mycroft says, but the words don't reach his brother's ears, no. It's other words that make his heart jump and his blood rise.

"Shezza." Matt raises his hand high waving it.

Sherlock's mouth opens. The beat of his heart thunders in his ears.

"Hi, Shezza."

Sherlock’s arms are already open, when he crouches to the ground to embrace the little boy. His smile grows as he greets the child. He takes the boy in his arms and plants a small kiss in his hair.

The fear that ran through his veins slows down, as Matt clings to his chest, Sherlock smiles in secret, breathing the smell of chocolate, books, and baby shampoo from Matt's soft pajamas. He smells of pure innocence.

He kisses again the top of his head.

Matt looks at him confused, his lip has begun to tremble. "Shezza... are you sad?"

"No." He hadn't realized he was crying until his little thumb caressed a tear.

Matt's own clear little eyes are full of tears. "I'm sorry, I don't want you cry."

"I'm not crying Matthew." the detective assures him wiping the tears that keep falling. "With you I would never be sad."

"For real?" he questions unsure.

"Yes, you make me very happy, mate."

Matt hugs him by resting his head on his chest, his hands are warm and comforting and Sherlock really can't remember feeling sad being like that.

"Myc told me that you solved your case. And I can go to eat chocolate desserts with him, later." He says, then he remembers something. "I just have to help him with the new case. It's a secret mission, Shezza." Matt's smile is exponentially high.

Sherlock looks at Matt sympathetically before adding. "I bet you're an amazing soldier. However, it's too sooner or later for you to get out of bed. "

Matt makes a pout. Mary remains without saying a single word. Sherlock is sure that he will hear an endless number of them later, if the look she is giving him is indicative.

"But I want to help in the mission. " Matt says with total decision although his eyes begin to close alone.

"He is our main help, today. " Mycroft points. "As always, I go ahead to the events and I have the tests that lead us to lead to the truth about the cape. "

Sherlock blinks confused.

"Miss Morstan has kindly pointed out that the little one stayed at the bookshop in the company of," Mycroft tastes the name on his lips. "Gerard. I have obtained the recordings from the security camera of this library. It's a first step, little brother. "

He looks back up at Matt and shakes his head. "I’m not leaving him."

"I didn't think you would. We can all take a walk to Scotland Yard and see the library recordings." Mycroft comments.

"Let's see the recording. We need to know what happened yesterday. "

* * *

 

** Thirty minutes later. **

_The events occur an hour after Matt leaves Baker Street with his nanny, John can calculate it when he sees the date and time projected by the security camera recording._

_Gerard is attending two young people, a tall, thin girl with a rocker look and a boy with a worn look and a baseball cap. Both release questions about the new literature of vampires and zombies._

_The older man runs his hands through his hair and smiles knowingly._

_Meanwhile Matt spins amusingly waving his cape from side to side as he moves inside the bookstore._

_Gerard watches him from the cash register, smiling. He waves his hand pointing to some books and the little boy takes them in his hands._

_His face has a look of deep concentration, his tongue protrudes a little from his lips as his small hands place each book on the corresponding shelf._

_Until a noise wins your attention._

_A white little baby rabbit is jumping._

_His mouth opens, he smiles, finishes placing the last book and moves slowly._

_The rabbit deviates quickly, Matt continues laughing until the opposite end of the library._

_"Don't be afraid, I will not hurt you! I promise!" He says sweetly._

_The rabbit stops right in front of him, Matt holds his breath and takes it between his hands._

_It's spongy and soft. Very soft like cotton Matt lets out a laugh. The rabbit fits comfortably in his hands._

_"Hello little one!" he's greeted by a voice behind his back. Matt turns to find a tall, bald, stout man dressed perfectly in a black suit._

_The child instinctively steps back, letting go of the rabbit and crashing into the nearby bookshelf._

_The man gives what John thinks is a sinister smile._

_Matthew's lips tremble as he sees the man approaching._

_His hand almost lands on his right shoulder, when he stops. His face forms a rough grimace and out of his mouth comes a sound like a grunt._

_The man takes three steps back._

_Matt standing without moving. His hands clinging to the edges of his cloak._

_"Don't be scared, sweety."_

_John lets out a sigh. His heart contracts hard when he hears that velvety voice._

_The woman._

_"I hope our friend did not give you problems?" she says holding the little rabbit in her hands._

_Matt watches her closely, her red dress, her dark hair perfectly arranged in a bun. Then look at the fluffy rabbit and he shakes his head._

_Irene laughs. And John feels his stomach fall._

_She terrifies him._

_She gives him even more fear near the innocent child._

_Irene moves with the agility of a snake, choosing the perfect moment to attack her prey, her green eyes never leave the little one._

_Matt swallows visibly as he clings more emphatically to his cloak, as if seeking protection. He is nervous._

_The robust man makes another unintelligible sound, and Irene laughs amused._

_"Come, honey." Irene says. "I know you want to continue playing with our friend. Take it, " she says holding the little rabbit towards him._

_Matt bites his lips, gathering courage, taking an uncertain step toward her._

_"Come closer." She asks in her velvety voice._

_Matt takes another step._

_Her voice is that of a charming one. "I know you want to do it, come on. Take it."_

_Matt watches her closely then, his gaze lingers on the fluffy rabbit, and he takes two steps toward her._

_The robust man makes a sound of appreciation._

_Irene smiles, extends her hands and Matt now holds the rabbit between his little hands._

_His eyes shine with joy as he caresses the white rabbit._

_Irene takes a step towards the nearby bookshelf, sighs dramatically. "If only someone could help me choose the best children's story to sleep in. My day would be perfect, do not you think?" she asks the man, who nods quickly._

_John simply snorts at the obvious answer that comes from the little boy._

_"I can help. "_

_The woman's lips form a smile. Irene nods amused "In that case, I would appreciate your advice."_

_Matt smiles. He moves towards the shelves next right still with the rabbit in his hands._

_Irene follows silently. The robust man observes in detail the place and the people present. Three more young people have entered the store, all three are in the sports section, while two middle-aged women talk about the economics and politics section. Gerard is still lost in a conversation with the couple of teenagers at the cash register._

_Matt speaks with emotion of each book, he explains attentively to the woman next to him, the best stories to read before going to sleep._

_His gaze quickly stops at a series of tales of adventures and pirates._

_Irene takes the opportunity._

_"Do you like pirates?"_

_Her cold green eyes rest on the boy. A smile stretches on her fleshy red lips._

_Matt nods smiling. With that innocent smile that he gives with ease. John's heart contracts. John has not been able to take a look at Sherlock who writhes agitatedly in his chair._

_The woman's voice takes him look back to the video._

_"He was a pirate a long time ago." She beckons towards the robust man. She lowers her voice, as she is telling a personal secret. "He could make everyone on the ship scream." She says smiling._

_The implications of his words make John's stomach twist._

_Matt innocently laughs. Irene joins him seconds later._

_"But I assume you also like superheroes or wizards." She tells him by moving her hands to his red cape._

_"Yes"_

_"There is a very special child that I know who also likes magicians very much."_

_"Your son?"_

_Irene laughs completely amused at the absurd idea of having a child. "He's my friend's son, he has not seen him in years."_

_Matt grimaces sadly. "Why not?"_

_"His mother took him far away, so he would never find him." Irene drops her gaze to the ground. "He is very sad about that."_

_Matt bites his lip. Extend the rabbit towards the robust man, who gives him a scrutiny look and takes it._

_Matt extends his small hands over her waist and embraces her gently. "I hope your friend sees his son, so that he is no longer sad. "_

_Something foreign is reflected in the flicker of Irene's green eyes, but it happens so fast that John wonders if I imagine it._

_She gives him a smile between her teeth. His right hand gently strokes the child's cheek. "You are so beautiful, so intelligent, so innocent."_

_Matt's smile grows even more._

_Irene's thumb stops in a slow motion, gaining the child's full attention._

_"I'll tell you a little secret."_

_Matt watches her closely._

_"I know the best magician in the world, he can make anyone disappear."_

_His eyes shine with wonder at his words._

_"I can introduce it to you if you come with me, it will be very fun."_

_Matt smiles._

_"You can also have the rabbit if you want, you just have to go with me."_

_Matt emphasizes his words with a nod. "But I can't go out with strangers."_

_"I'm not a stranger, we've talked, you know me."_

_John can see the pieces spinning in the child's mind and he curses very low._

_Matt is going to give in, his gaze says on the white rabbit. And in the magician's promise._

_John's hands cling to his chair hard._

_"I can't, I'm sorry." He says. And John sighs._

_Irene looks at him with astonishment on her face, clearly not expecting that answer._

_"We will play another time, see you, sweetheart. "  And with that she's gone._

"That terrified my soul," John declares when the recording ends.

Lestrade agrees with that statement. While the woman is a seductive professional, she also uses her techniques to cause the most damage in the shortest possible time. It's a dangerous opponent.

An incredibly dangerous opponent near the hands of an innocent child.

John speaks again. "I still don't understand. She could have taken him in. She managed to get Matt to trust her."

"She would know we would see her. She knew the camera was there and never hid from it. '' It's the consulting detective who answers.

John's eyes light up with understanding. "It's not about Matt, it's about you," he sighs. His mouth is too dry, so he swallows before speaking again. "It's a quick statement of the power she has, how easily she could get close to someone for whom Sherlock cares."

"It's a game, a power game, strategy." Sherlock assures her. "She made the first move. "

"Sherlock." John calls him.

"The game is on. "

* * *

 

Sally Donovan takes the black marker between her thin fingers, has a look of concentration on her face as she writes on the blackboard in front of her.

"We have a mother tortured, burned, and her little boy was poisoned while he was sleeping, and that boy was wearing a red cape, coming from Matt."

Anderson at his side nods. "The point is, how did the cape get into the hands of the new child?"

She continues. "If Matt had it in the bookstore, what happened next?"

The question evaporates in the air. Lestrade moves in his seat a couple of times. John takes another sip of his black coffee. While the detective remains immobile leaning on the nearby wall.

The asshole hasn't said much since they found the boy and his nanny hours ago. His look seems lost. Sally realizes.

She denies with her head, if he doesn't want to participate in this case, being emotionally compromised is his problem.

Laughter echoes in her head. Emotionally committed. Sally gives him another look. Yeah right.

If Sherlock bloody Holmes, doesn't want to say a word, she does. He wants to close this case, to go to bed as soon as possible.

"Bring the babysitter."

 

* * *

 

Mary sits with the sleeping child in her arms. She can feel Sherlock's eyes on them, but she doesn't say anything. She limits herself to answering the woman's question in front of her.

"He was upset, he wanted to stay helping Sherlock, so I left him at the bookstore with Gerard, while I was buying the cookies, and I met them in the park."

"In the park?"

"There was a great show with clowns, we saw the ads a few minutes before I left him at the bookstore, Matt wanted to go."

Sally continues the interrogation. "Was he wearing his cape when you met him?"

Mary frowns. "No, he did not have it anymore."

"And it did not occur to you to think what happened to the cloak?"

"No." She answers honestly. "I was so happy, with the idea that he would take it away, he had spent three whole days with that thing stuck to his back." Then she adds. "He's a child, he always leaves things irrigated, he gets excited about something and then he leaves it in. You don't have to make a lot of fuss about that."

"Much fuss, Mary! Hell, that cloak is tied to murder." Donovan shouts, moving her head from side to side.

Mary's mouth opens, she is about to reply when she feels the movement in her arms. His gaze descends to meet a pair of sleepy green eyes, looking at her tenderly.

"We can go home."

"Soon, darling." She responds by placing a kiss on his hair.

Matt nods. He runs his hands over his eyes. He yawns three times before his eyes open fully and he can comfortably sit on his nanny's lap.

"Hello, buddy." It's Lestrade who greets him.

"Hello…

"Can you tell us what you did with Gerard in the park yesterday? Do you remember?"

"We played with the clowns, they were making animals with balloons." Matt gets excited and continues his story, telling what animals clowns could do, what funny tricks they did. "Gerard got a dog and I got a kitten"

"That's really good, pal, " Lestrade congratulates him. "But I want you to think very well, to whom you gave him the red cloak, the superhero cloak."

Matt shrugs easily. "To the clown."

"What clown?" Lestrade asks quickly.

Matt laughs. "The one with the red nose, and the funny wig."

"I need you to be a little more precise, ok, buddy." Lestrade asks him with a friendly smile. "Was he tall? Fat? Slim?"

Mary sees Matt opening his eyes, trying to find the details that the inspector wants.

She sighs. "I don't think Matt is very helpful. We're talking about thirty people dressed the same. "

"We just need to know who the clown is, and why he gave him the cape, Mary."

She comes to her defense with the claw of a mother protecting her son. "He's five years old, he's confused and he's sleepy, he's not the best scenario to question him."

Lestrade lets out a sigh, running his hands through his semi-silver hair. "I know, I'm sorry, really...

"The clown needed it." Matt's voice interrupts him.

All eyes are focused on the child. It's John who asks this time. "Why did he need it?"

His answer is innocent and simple. "To win the game."

John's eyebrows are knitted together. "Which game?"

"The game he and Shezza have played for years."

Given this, Sherlock's position changes. He moves from his position to approach Matt.

John blinks."Which game?" he asks again.

"He said Shezza would know which."

John's mouth opens, Lestrade's blood beats loudly in his ears as the consultant detective's heart skips a beat when the little one utters his next words.

"He said he's back and this time he would win." Matt recites. "Because Shezza has a lot to lose."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TBC...  
> You already know what to do.  
> Let me know what you think. Theories?  
> I hope you are with me in this story. There is a fun trip to travel.


	9. The magic of her eyes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 102 comments. I have no words.   
> First I want to thank all those people who read my story; your comments have been really wonderful and very motivating for me.  
> It is amazing the support I have had. Thank you very much indeed, means a lot to me that they like my story. I really thank all who have encouraged me to continue this story.  
> Thanks to NeverNik. Who helped me with this chapter and was kind to me.   
> I invite you to read my new story: You make me smile.   
> Disclaimer: This fanfiction is not written for profit and no infringement of copyright is intended. I don´t own Sherlock.   
> A hug, have a good day

** The magic of her eyes **

It’s five days, fifteen hours, twenty-two minutes and forty-three seconds when he sees her again. She's teaching about the degeneration of axonal fibers and its direct effect on the motor function of upper limbs.

He can't help marveling at the ease with which her words form simple concepts, how she can create patterns of images with her delicate hands, and the way in which her laughter drowns out the silence that surrounds them.

A warm feeling begins under his feet and extends to every cell in his body when he hears her laugh.

That same feeling increases when she sees him and smiles. He feels groggy, but as the words escape from her lips about axons and fibers, the feeling become bearable. He closes his eyes and breathes.

When his eyes open again and the words end, the feeling is gone. Sherlock is particularly disturbed.

"Hello, Sherlock!" she greets animatedly in a tone that he catalogs as ‘sweet.’

He remains motionless, not daring to speak. He doesn't want to show how strongly his heart beats inside his chest at the mere sight of her.

She's no idea what her eyes do to his blood, to his brain.

She just smiles innocently.

He internally curses the torrent of emotions that have awakened in him since Matthew's arrival. Emotions that mix and alter with Molly’s look.

By the time he takes a step, the students have left, leaving him alone with the little pathologist.

Another minute passes when she speaks again. "Are you okay?"

Sherlock just watches her with what anyone else would say is curiosity. "I found your explanation incredibly satisfying."

She lets out a laugh at that.

He tilts his head slightly. "What aspect of my statement do you find amusing?"

She shakes her head. "Nothing… I’m just relieved. If I can impress you, I can impress anyone."

"That is an incorrect assumption, " he says honestly. "You’re by far the most qualified professional in the whole bloody hospital."

Molly looks surprised. "Is that a compliment?"

He evades her look and walks around the table that contains her notes when he speaks. "A statement of fact. "

The blush on her face is the best answer he’s ever wanted to receive.

For some rare reason, he wants to know what other phrases he can say to make her blush in the same way; however, that idea is discarded as soon as the analytical part of his brain resonates at the absurdity of the thought.

The doors of the morgue open.

Jeremias smiles sweetly at Molly, holding a test tube in his hands. He's wearing a new cologne; his hair is combed differently, too. He wants to impress Molly, that's clear.

Sherlock snorts.

"I found the results of the analyzes of Mr Martins, Molls!" he says.

"Full points for enthusiasm, Jeremias, but unfortunately, big guy, you won’t fit in the police unit. Sorry." 

Jeremias’s mouth falls open, unimpressed. "But I know how he died…”

"Palladium poison." Sherlock discards Jeremias’s speech with a wave of his hand. "Anyone with more than an iota of intelligence would know that. How boring."

The young man's eyes open with horror and Molly makes a sound of disapproval. "I'm sorry, Jeremias. Apparently, Mr Holmes has completely lost what little sanity he has left."

Sherlock shrugs, while Jeremias nods, then leaves with his head down the same way he entered.

Molly crosses her arms over her chest, annoyed with Sherlock’s outburst.

He doesn't care. She will have to get used to his strong words, harsh and sarcastic comments.

"Are you here to terrorize all the pathologists in the place, or do you need something?"

Sherlock is cynical enough to look innocent at her question.

"I need to use your microscope. Mine has suffered from the violent treatment of my landlady."

Or John.

Molly exhales, then nods.

* * *

* * *

 

He uses her microscope for a whole hour before getting bored. His gaze moves away from the microscope and stops at Molly.

She hums The Beatles' _Yellow Submarine_ as her hands move with the skill that comes with the experience of years while she cuts a brain in a half.

She has a look of concentration on her face. Her tongue touches her lower lip.

He finds himself smiling.

Her cheekbones are soft, her features are similar to those of a cherub, and her hair shines in some way before the light. He observes her, intrigued, and swallows.

He’s almost forgotten how beautiful Molly is.

But his attention is broken by the sound of her voice. "You' re insatiably curious, " she says erroneously, believing that his attention is fixed on the technique she's using to dissect, and not on the beauty in which he finds himself immersed when she' s near.

However, he doesn't contradict her. He can't.

He shrugs. "Only in the presence of especially capable hands." There is a funny twinkle in her eyes that has him smiling sincerely. "There are techniques that deserve to be admired."

"Don’t say things like that, Sherlock, I might have to start being nice to you," she replies as she smiles in return.

"That would be unfortunate," he says, as easily and as lightly as he says anything, and she huffs out a quiet laugh.

There is a pause, then: "Well, be my guest! Take a pair of gloves, put them on and make the next cut. "

His mouth opens, then closes.

It's not that he hasn't dissected organs before, it's that he's never done it in front of her.

There is something exciting about that.

To be observed, and guided by her, in her domain, nothing more nor less.

"You must take the scalpel by the handle. It’s used to perform fine motor acts, using the anterior pressure triangle of the hand, consisting of the thumb, index, and - in rare cases - by the middle finger, " Molly explains by demonstrating the movement first with her own fingers.

Sherlock's mercurial eyes process the image. He is sure it will be repeated in his mental palace a couple of times.

The harmony of movement is an art which has him completely in love.

Her voice is low, gentle. As if she will need nothing more to gain his attention. "Carefully. As if you are holding a brush and its movement is made on a thin canvas."

He can only nod.

"Treat the nervous tissue with nothing but care. Remember that it is constituted of a series of delicate and complex elements. We don´t want to damage them by making a movement too suddenly."

He looks to the scalpel, then back up to meet her warm brown eyes.

"Your turn," she says with a smile.

Sherlock follows her example and takes the scalpel by the handle.

He looks at the brain with one of those curious looks he gives to things, trying to decipher who it belonged to.

Her voice brings him back to reality. "Need a hand?"

He looks up at her. "No."

She giggles, and his heart jumps again at the sound. "You sure?"

His lips form a thin line; he will not smile. He does not. "Yes."

"You’re going to do it by yourself?"

"I am. "

She can’t help but huff out a quiet laugh.

"This year?"

His response is an exasperated sound.

* * *

* * *

 

 

Thirty minutes later, they both sit on stools, side by side, when she says what’s running through her mind from the moment he entered the morgue.

"Jeremias told me that the Police found the body of a child and it disturbed you a lot."

Sherlock stops the movement of his hand. His mouth forms a thin line. He doesn't want her to see him vulnerable, broken.

His heart jumps, and not in an emotional way.

Did that young man tell her how he broke?

How the agony of his voice echoed in the morgue?

How he cried?

"I can't say anything that could change what happened, Sherlock. That was horrible, " she says with sincerity. There is a note of sadness in her voice that he can't identify. There is a story not told there. "But I'm sure that with your help, the Police will catch the killer, because that's what you do. You help people. "

"I don't help people, Molly." He shakes his head at her ridiculous theory. "I'm not a hero. "

She contradicts him quickly, and in a bold move, she places her small hand on his right arm. "You are."

She's giving him that look that can penetrate his soul and break him to pieces. "You use the wonderful gift you have to catch villains. "

He laughs, but without emotion. "I use my gift to stop my mind from being consumed by boredom. I'm a selfish man. I could never be a hero," he says, lowering his head.

"We are all selfish in some way. That's not why we're bad."

He feels the warmth of her hand travel through his skin in a way that burns him, little by little. "You constantly save people's lives. If that doesn't make you a hero, I really don't know was does."

His voice is a soft whisper. "Molly."

Her brown eyes are fixed on him, and it's too much. Sherlock is drowning. There is too much emotion written there, too much tenderness. He doesn't deserve it. He doesn't deserve anything from this beautiful woman.

He jumps up from the stool. "I...” His voice trembles. "I have to go." His heart feels heavy in the absence of her touch.

She nods, and smiles sadly. "Maybe you're the hero in someone's life and you don't know it yet. "

Maybe, but not probable, Sherlock thinks. And with that, he's gone.

 

* * *

* * *

 

 

His firm steps take him to the library. His body sinks to the wooden bench, while his brother's words resound in his head. "You put a bull's-eye on the boy's chest, Sherlock!"

From afar, Sherlock watches Matt read Gulliver's Travels. There is a smile on his face as he reads every word. An emotion appears in his eyes with each character’s actions.

With Gerard at his side, smiling kindly, stroking the boy's back with affection.

The bench moves slightly; however, he doesn't move.

"The sweet wrappers they found on the women belong to an old factory at the north of the city, which closed to the public two and a half years ago, but they kept supplying a candy company until a week ago. I tracked it down, found the workers, and linked the possible suspects to the mother. Bastian Shurle, thirty-five years old, German, former lover, committed suicide before the Police could handcuff him," Sherlock explains to her.

Silence invades, and he hates himself for it.

"You don't have to say anything." His words manifest the obvious. "I know you're upset, and I understand."

She gives him a sharp look. Her tone of voice is high. "Do you? Understand."

He nods, still not seeing Matthew. She huffs in disgust.

"You don't understand the level of anguish I was in!"

Sherlock sees the slight tremor on the blonde woman's lips. "Your brother took me out of my house at three in the morning to make sure Matthew was okay, that he wasn't dead, injured or kidnapped!" Her blue eyes flicker with tears before they return to a serious state. "I was terrified, not knowing what to do, because my beautiful and innocent child would be hurt in some way! Why?"

Sherlock swallows, and she continues. "I asked you the first time we talked about getting away if you were going to hurt him, Sherlock."

His heart contracts at her harsh words. "It was stupid to allow him to get involved."

She lets out a shocked breath. "Stupid does not even define the situation! Your association with him sent a maniac after him! What would you have done if he...”

Sherlock closes his eyes, shaking his head.

The image of the child lying on the autopsy table still shines in his dreams. That image will torment him for a long time, he is sure of it.

"I've never felt so desperate in my whole life!"

He hesitates, then looks up at her again.

"So lost, confused and hurt." Mary gives him a compressed expression as her eyes soften. "You must know that I would do everything in my power to end the life of anyone who wants to hurt Matthew."

Sherlock nods, but something moves through his expression. Something unsure. Something vulnerable. It occurs to Mary, rather suddenly, that whatever her friend's feelings or ability to articulate them, he's got it bad when it comes to Matt.

Mary remembers how that feels.

"I'm not going to let something like that happen again. I swear, Mary."

"I really hope so, otherwise I won’t be the only person who kicks your ass and hunts you down."

"What do you mean?" Sherlock asks as his eyebrows furrow.

"Matt's mom" Mary pauses. "She's still in the dark. She doesn't know that the great Sherlock Holmes is playing at being the father of her son, that Matt loves you madly, or that half the Police know him." She shakes her head in disapproval. "Nor that the British government, represented by your brother, has a predilection for him."

Sherlock looks at her innocently.

"Don't give me that look! When she finds out, there will be serious consequences. I really don't believe that this lie can go on forever, nor that any woman could be happy about this."

He was a man of iron control. But with Matt, he knew he was in constant danger of losing himself.

"Come on, say hello to Matt. He’s been asking non-stop for you. "

Sherlock looks up, brows arched in surprise.

"I know what I said. But I trust you. I'm giving you a golden opportunity with him. Don’t mess me around, Holmes."

He lets himself smile. "I wouldn’t think about it, Mary.”

The door opens, and when Sherlock's eyes meet those of the little boy, he can see the unadulterated affection there. A feeling that blossoms day by day.  
  
"Shezza!" Matt shouts, throwing himself into his arms.  
  
Sherlock hugs him against his chest. "Hi, Matthew."  
  
Matt smiles softly, murmuring at the chestnut'-haired man’s neck. "I missed you!"  
  
"I've missed you, too," Sherlock confesses sincerely. Four days have passed since the last time they spoke face to face.  
  
"Did you know that Gulliver traveled to Lilliput, Lupata, Balnibarbi, and Japan?" Matt begins, excited.  
  
"Really?" Sherlock asks skeptically, taking a seat on the couch. "Tell me everything."  
  
Matt smiles at him as he sits in Sherlock’s arms and starts talking.

 

* * *

* * *

 

 

It's just a couple of days later, just after lunch, when Sherlock appears again and she can finally talk to him.  It's then that she realizes how excited she is about the prospect.

He left that day looking worried; sad, somehow. Now he looks much calmer, refreshed.

She smiles, and he nods, sitting before her in the cafeteria.

His hands drum on the table. She looks at him but says nothing, drinking her coffee in silence.

"I thought she was married," he said casually, when he observes a nurse flirting with a male employee. "She has a son."

"Some women have goals, careers and dreams before settling down and getting married. In addition, there are women who have children without getting married these days." Molly tilts her face to him; an unspoken challenge.

"How progressive of them."

"Is it so hard to believe a woman can stand on her own feet and raise a child without the support of a father figure?"

Her eyes are full of emotion.

"Did I hit a nerve?" he asks, taken aback by her contemptuous reaction to his words.

"Women can do anything men can do! In fact, we can do it better!" she declares proudly. She's experienced first-hand being a parent, to fend for herself and get up each day with the courage to face any challenge that arises because of the love she has for her child and wanting the best for him.

"I have no doubt that they can," Sherlock replies politely, letting the issue go.

"What?" Molly demands. "Why does everyone look at me as if I have the answers to all the mysteries of the universe?"

 He sees the challenging expression written in her beautiful eyes. She'd surely think that, like all men, he’d challenge her to continue arguing and to defend her feminist line.

But she's wrong.

Sherlock's smart enough to know that this isn't an issue that will lead them down the path towards happiness.

"Has anyone ever told you that you're completely self-absorbed, Sherlock?"

"I thought it was common knowledge." His smile is large and satisfied.

A witty retort forms in her mouth, but is interrupted by the sound of her mobile phone. She rolls her eyes and apologizes.

"Dr. Hooper," she answers in a professional tone.

"Mummy!" says the interlocutor on the other side of the line.

"Hey baby!" She replies affectionately, making Sherlock focus on the call, even though he is reading a report. "Is everything okay?" she asks. Her child shouldn't be calling at this hour.

"Everything is fine, Molls!" Mary's voice greets her with emotion. "Incredible, even. Matt was accepted into the city's program for talented children!  Some men saw his pictures and they were impressed!"

"That's-" Molly has no words to express her joy. The institute only accepts children from seven years onwards, and her boy is still young for this opportunity. "But how?"

She's overwhelmed, her heart filling with pride, like it always does with her son’s talents.

"They said Matt has an amazing gift and it shouldn’t go to waste! It's better to teach him at an early age, and well, he's in, Molls!" Mary says excitedly.

"Mummy, Mummy, they liked my drawings! They said they were pretties!"

 "That, baby, that's incredible! I'm very proud of you! I was sure you'd make it. I can't wait to get home so you can tell me all the details!" she said with shining eyes.

"Yes! I love you, Mummy."

"I'll see you soon, honey, I love you. Be good." She ends the call.

Sherlock's eyes shoot open as he hears the redhead’s last words. He can't say exactly how he feels; there's a hint of anger that spans his chest.

"So? Is everything okay?" He says with clipped speech. "With him, I mean."

She looks at him in disbelief. "Really? That's what we're doing now?"

He smiles innocently and shrugs.

She doesn't think she's ever seen a better description of the term ‘egocentric.’

"The caller was my son," Molly replies without looking at him, knowing that his eyes will display that fraction of incredible upheaval that she's only seen once in a while.

Without looking up, she smiles and whispers softly: "Are you alright, Sherlock?"

He nods.

However, he has no words. His mind is struggling with a billion questions. He feels his blood begin to boil under his skin, but he pushes his anger aside. He closes his eyes and puts his hands on his head.

Why didn’t she say anything before?

Let loose, Holmes, say something! he berates himself.

"Age?"

"Huh?" Her eyes meet his as she bites her lower lip.

"The child," he clarifies. "How old is the boy?"

"Five, he’ll be six in a couple of months," she states, puzzled by her boss's attitude.

"They're amazing at that age," he declares as he remembers Matthew. "His dad must be proud," he says discreetly.

"I wouldn't know. He left a while ago," she responds, avoiding his gaze. "I guess he's fine. He went to buy a lottery ticket and never returned. I guess he must have won," she says without emotion.

Well, now. Sherlock's brain is on the edge of overheating. For the first time in his life, there's nothing witty, sarcastic, smart or comforting he can say that can help her. He nears her, gently places a finger under her chin and lifts her face so he can see her beautiful eyes.

"Then he is a fool." He smiles at her, really smiles, a warm smile that makes her feel like everything is alright, even though everything is completely wrong.

She smiles back.

That expression on her face... that expression was so familiar to him. But he can't remember where, when or who had it before.

Molly keeps smiling when his hand brushes hers. "You're an amazing woman,” he says. “I have no doubt that he's a great kid."

"Thanks, Sherlock," she says sincerely.

"Is he doing well?" The concern was palpable in his voice. "Your boy?"

"Yes, he's fantastic. It's all good; Don't worry, Sherlock".

"What's his name?" He smiles at her, one of those trademark smiles.

"It's James."

"That's a good name, I already like him," he smiles.

Molly doesn't bother to hide the smile or blush that glides gracefully over her cheeks.

"We'll see if he likes you."

Where the hell has she been all his life? he thinks.

He smiles, arms crossed over his chest, eyeing her with curiosity in his eyes. Finally, someone who could match his wits and actually challenge him.

 

* * *

* * *

 

 

**_ In another part of the city _ **

He walks slowly to the kindergarten, waits until the mahogany door opens and lets him enter. He arranges his suit and sits down. His face is serious and his hair is perfectly combed back.

"Good morning!" the middle-aged woman greets without looking up from the folder on her desk. "I'm glad you've finally come to see the place. I'm pleased to admit that it's one of the best in the country, and well-supported children become tomorrow's leaders."

A slight smile forms on the man's face.

"I don’t doubt it. As soon as I heard about this place, I wanted my child to come here," he pauses, licking his lips. "He's a very talented, intelligent and unique boy."

 "Oh, I would love to meet your little one!" the woman responds.

"That will happen as soon as my wife comes back." He grimaces, and his eyes are dark. "They're on a little journey through the city. She and my son love games of hide and seek."

If things go as planned, Margaret Hooper would be his.

His forever. Regardless.

The woman is silent for a moment, but gives him a grin that looked like a tired smile.

He nods and rises toward the exit. "See you soon, Miss Puffman."

"Goodbye, Mr. Moriarty."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TBC...  
> Hello, evil dad…   
> You already know what to do.  
> Let me know what you think. Theories?  
> I hope you are with me in this story. There is a fun trip to travel.


	10. From truth to light

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi.   
> Thanks to NeverNik. Who helped me with this chapter and was kind to me.   
> I invite you to read my new story: You make me smile.   
> Disclaimer: This fanfiction is not written for profit and no infringement of copyright is intended. I don´t own Sherlock.   
> A hug, have a good day

Once I was told that half of the truth is still a lie. It's a secret that always comes to light, and the truth will destroy everything. I guess it's what we teach children so they don't lie, but unfortunately some people never learn until it’s too late and the truth has already burst forth.

"I think we should talk to your mum about Shezza," Mary says, sitting next to the bed of the small child, who looks somewhat alarmed. "I can’t keep ignoring her questions about him, Matt. She thinks he's a kindergarten buddy,".

"But he's my friend," he says defensively, folding his arms and giving her one of those knowing glances.

Mary sighs. "We both know that's not what everyone thinks." She takes time to form her next sentence. "Your friends believe that Sherlock's really your dad, Matt".

The boy smiles playfully, emphasizing how much he likes the detective he admires being his personal care. That smile says it all, but Mary is concerned. She can't help that her best friend works with him, the infamous man who not only seems to be falling for the boy, but also for Molly, if the conversations that Mary has had with her and him are a sign. It's a game where there’s no winner, Molly will be furious to learn the truth, and Sherlock, – God, he’ll be truly unimpressed.

"I have no doubt that Sherlock cares about you," she gives a winks. "But your Mum doesn’t know anything, and I think...” -

"Please, Mary!" the small boy interrupts, quickly embracing her. "Don't tell her anything yet. I promise I'll tell her this afternoon, okay?" He says this with a tender grimace, his lower lip protruding and accompanying his best puppy eyes.

The woman lets out a sigh and agrees to his request. "Who can say no to those cute green eyes?"

The child shouts ecstatically, jumping from side to side. "Thank you, you're the best!" He embraces her again. "I love you.".

"And I love you, little destroyer," she responds, tickling him. He bursts out laughing, along with her.

* * *

 

**How many moments of your life, can you pinpoint and say ‘this changes everything?’.**

Have you felt it? That feeling that runs through your body, telling you to get out of bed and hit the ground running. It will happen to you inevitably, and when it does, anxiety takes over because you don’t know what’s going on. It’s the calm before the storm; a laugh before a tear. It's the feeling that something will happen today - something incredibly good or incredibly bad.

And all you can do is wait.

And that's what Molly does. She takes a shower, gets dressed, and prepares for the new day. She gives a smile, a hug and some kind words to her child before heading to work.

An hour later, she's in the depth of a man's body, as she reviews her notes, deliberately ignoring him.

Sherlock’s attitude becomes tedious. He crosses his arms like a small child, staring dramatically at the ceiling. "I'm bored!" he declares when the first autopsy is over.

"Sorry to hear that. For the next autopsy I’ll ask a trainer to come, then everything will be fine," she murmurs as he writes up his notes. A smile takes his lips.

"Well, maybe I could tell you a few things you could do to entertain me," Sherlock smiles wolfishly at her. His eyes sparkle with mischief at the implication of his words.

Her breathing catches. The way he looks at her makes her heart stop.

She can't explain why his banter makes her smile.

She needs to detox from an addiction she never knew she had.

She's never felt so ridiculously wonderful before.

"Has anyone told you that big egos kill brain cells?"

Sherlock laughs at her comment. "If that were really the case, Molly, I would have become a vegetable a long time ago."

She’s about to reply when the shrill sound of both cell phones surprises them. Both give each other apologetic looks.

"Good afternoon, Miss Hooper." Elizabeth Adams, the director of the school that her child attends, greets her formally from the other side of the line. "An incident has occurred...”

 

* * *

 

**How many moments of your life, can you pinpoint and say ‘this changes everything?’.**

Her steps hurry through the corridors of the school, and there’s a bell clanging in her heart that worries her.

She processes what is before her eyes. Her little boy is covered in scratches, and a bag of ice, almost covers his face. He is sitting across the room, saying nothing, and the whole situation makes her feel incredibly tense.

"What happened?" Molly asks gently, looking at the Director, who has politely asked her to sit down.

"One of the children said a few things to Matthew and, well, Matthew hit him in the face. He started a fight."

A breath she didn't know she was holding escapes from her lips.

"Miss Hooper, I have policies against violence in our school. I have to suspend Matthew for two weeks. I can not indulge such behavior. He has to be punished," declares the woman seriously.

Molly's eyes flit from Director Elizabeth to her son.  Matt hit someone? Not her son. No! He would never do something like that!

"No, he couldn't have!" she states, shaking her head. He wouldn't! It's not like Matt to intentionally hurt anyone. He wouldn’t hurt a fly! Why should he? He doesn’t even get to see violence on television. Where would he even copy it from?

Elizabeth's frown deepens and she sucks in a deep breath before exhaling. "I know it must be hard to believe, but-“

"What did this boy say to Matt?"

Elizabeth opens her mouth, but Matt quickly responds: "That I have no father and no one loves me!" he said with a brief sob.

"Oh, baby!" Molly is at his side in seconds. Her arms protect her son from pain. "That's not true!, Many people love you. And I love you with my entire soul, baby; you're the best thing that’s ever happened to me."

The boy simply hugs her without saying anything more. But it is the Director who interrupts them, asking the boy to wait in the Nurses’ office, while she talks to his mother.

Molly gives Matt a smile and a kiss on the cheek before, he leaves.

* * *

 

 

**_On the other hand..._ **

Mary’s glued to her phone like crazy. Her friend to be here, but she has no idea where Molly is. She’s aware of the situation because the rumor made its way to her, so she just hopes that Matt is out of the Nurses’ office, and all is well.

She hopes she'll look into his beautiful green eyes soon. But there's another eye that watches her closely.

"Sorry… I don't know who else to call; his Mom isn't answering the phone!" Mary explains, circling back and forth down the hall to the Nurse’s office. Confusion and panic floods Sherlock’s face.

"He's okay!" she says reassuringly, giving him a gentle pat on the arm.

His attention is drawn to the woman; she gives a grateful look while still pressing the keys on her phone again.

"I'll be in the car. I'd like to talk to him, Sherlock," Mary says, giving him a meaningful look. "He can’t be fight with his peers. Violence is not a viable solution," she pronounces it as if he doesn’t understand the issue. "Don’t look me like that!" she scolds at his frown. "Matt doesn’t like to talk about it. I only found out because the teacher told me everything.".

"I'll take care of it,” is all he says.

Mary leaves him alone.

As Sherlock walks down the hall, Matt finishes collecting his things and leaves the Nursery. A dark bruise covers the top of his right eye, where his eyebrow is, and his lower lip isn’t much better.

He’s holding an ice pack against his face when Sherlock finds him. He stares at the child for a few seconds.

Then he comes over, and removes the ice pack to see how bad the wound is, even though the Nurse says it's not really serious and it will heal in a few days. He wants to be sure.

"At least he got what he deserved, right?" Sherlock asks, smiling slightly.

The boy lets out an amused laugh.

"He was hurt enough," he says triumphantly. Tears of laughter wet his cheeks.

 "I just wanted you to be proud!" Matt whispers softly. "I want to be as brave as you!"

"I've always been proud of you; you're a great boy, Matt,".

Sherlock nods and puts his arms around boy, a necessary hug, because it’s one of those times. "I glad you're alright; I was worried about you," he confesses, feeling utterly fragile about the whole situation.

The child speaks honestly. "I'm alright, because you're here, Dad."

Every nerve in Sherlock’s body feels like it will explode upon hearing those words.

 He clenches his jaw and feels his heart beat incredibly fast.

"And I'll always be here. That's what Dads are for!" he says, grinning.

"Just when I think you can’t do anything stupider, you prove me wrong," a voice whispers behind him, broadcasting a hidden pain.

 

* * *

 

Have you felt it? That feeling that runs through your body, telling you to get out of bed and hit the ground running. It will happen to you inevitably, and when it does, anxiety takes over because you don’t know what’s going on. It’s the calm before the storm; a laugh before a tear. It's the feeling that something will happen today - something incredibly good or incredibly bad.

Like the look of betrayal and pain consuming Molly’s brown eyes, burning also with anger and fear.

A sigh escapes from Sherlock’s lips. They’re on the road that will burst the bubble of his happiness.

"Mummy, what happened?" Matt asks, interrupting the moment, turning away from Sherlock abruptly.

An old sneaking numbness, a feeling of loss, and annoyance washes over him. God! How could anyone as smart as he not see the signs before? The same eyes share that happy look, that smile dances on the lips of them both! The unique ability to make him happy?! He buries his face in his hands.

"Its okay, honey!" reassures the woman who can’t meet her son’s eyes, through her tears, her voice at a lower level than normal.

Sherlock swallows hard and looks at her. Molly looks at him like she’s stopping herself from saying anything more.

Her silence means everything. The words, memories, echo in his head:

_"I just want it clear, sir, he and his mother have lived in difficult circumstances., I hope you don’t take advantage of Matt and hurt him," he says._

_"Matt, where is your Dad?" he asks._

_"I don’t know. My Mum doesn’t talk about him, but I don´t want him back... Mum cries when he's around, and the last time he came back, we had to go to the hospital for a while."_

_"Matt is a boy who has suffered much. His father left when he was a baby. He returned a few times only to make his mother suffer, and Matt in the process. He doesn’t need any more pain, he doesn’t need someone to play Daddy. He needs a real father, “Mary says with sincerity._

_"He’s five years old, will be six in a couple of months," Molly says with a bright smile on her lips when talking about her son. "I guess [the father] is fine. He went to buy a lottery ticket and never returned. Maybe he won."_

He hears his heart beat at an uneven pace, but ignores it. That's when he knows how much he hates himself, because this is the first time he can remember giving away an opportunity to help. There is so much pain in their lives, and there’s nothing he can do about it. He is angry to learn that a person has destroyed their lives. He hates himself, knowing that he did nothing prevent this. He can’t bear to look in her eyes.

There is too much betrayal written on her face.

"Matt..." Sherlock takes courage and gives the boy a friendly look. "Little man, I want you to take care of yourself and take care of your Mum," he says sincerely. "And I want you to promise me to not get into any more trouble, and that you won’t hit anyone else. That's not right."

"I'll do it!" Matt says determinedly, and Sherlock smiles, a little sad and a little uncertain about the situation. "You're not coming back, right?"

Sherlock is shocked at the child’s simple words. He’d noticed that the child was mature for his age, but never imagined he could be like this.

He nods. "Be careful, little man."

"You too," His head snaps up and his eyes glisten. This is it. Sherlock hates this terrible moment of departure.

"But..." the little one latches on to him.

 "I don’t want you to go," Matt whispers. Tears run dow his face and he doesn’t bother to wipe them.

Sherlock also has tears in his eyes. He tries to be strong for the child, tries to stay calm.

"Is it my fault?" Matt pouts. His gaze switches between Sherlock and his mother. Tears continue escaping from his eyes. "Don’t go, Sherlock,!" he says, sobbing. "I'll be good, I promise!" Matt cries while clinging to the man.

"No, this isn’t because of you, Matt." Sherlock gives him a reassuring hug and run his hands comfortingly down his back.

"It’s is because of me,” Sherlock says. “ iIt's my fault." He smiles wryly. "But I want you to know that I’m grateful that we got to spend time together. Ever since I saw you, I knew you were special. A very strong and intelligent boy. You gave me back my faith in many things, and taught me more than anything I've learned in my life. You're the best friend anyone could ask for. Be strong, all right? "

Matt simply nods, tight-lipped. He cries inconsolably when his mother picks him up.

She hasn’t said a word, but he knows he will shortly hear everything she has to say.

 

* * *

 

"Please Mummy!" cries Matt, kicking in her arms. "I'll be good!" He sobs uncontrollably, breaking the Molly’s already battered heart already battered of Molly.

The words come out of his mouth so fast that Molly just barely processed them, and she hates to hear him mournbeg. This was the last thing she wanted. Molly had never intended to make him feel bad. She kisses him on top of his head, his soft brown hair on her lips, her hands drawing small circles on his back, trying to comfort him. "Shh, baby.," Her words are soft whispers as she is rocking him in her arms, clinging to him. Her hands still traceing the soothing circles. "Everything will be fine, I promise," she lies, because she knows for sure that nothing will be fine, at least not for a while, one really long time.

But the little one seems determined to continue his struggle as he screams for the man. "Shezza!"

So now she is crying, crying at seeing him so vulnerable, remembering his worried face, asking Sherlock not to leave, to feeling miserable and make him feel the same way.

Why didn’t she realized before the situation? Why wasn’t he honest with her?  Was he scared? Was he sad?

His chest vibrates shudders and she can feels her son clinging to her shirt as like a lifeguard, gasping for breath. It’s a constant signal that goes to through her like a dagger, shaking to her core.

_Dad_... The word echoed in her ears. And she feels like she’s is going to vomit.

Hot tears slip down her cheeks, but she refuses to let her voice betray her, facing looking down at the small boy whose face cradled in his chest.

Twenty minutes is the time it takes for him to fall asleep. Twenty minutes of prayer for Sherlock, and twenty minutes of her heart breaking to pieces before her voice is muffled by her son - conjuring nothing but pain for her.

God, she hates to see him suffer.

 

* * *

 

Mary looks at the clock again on her left wrist, she sighs. It’s has been too long since she left Sherlock alone with Matt. Will there be something wrong?  She wonders without getting a clear answer.

She’s about to exit the vehicle when she sees something that stops her. Molly.

She’s cradling Matt in her arms, tears staining her face, and her hair is tousled like her clothes. Mary's heart fears the worst.

She gets up from the seatout of the her car and goes to Molly, her face solemn.

She views Molly with concern. "Are you okay?"

 Then she realizes that the tears are running down her cheeks.

"Uh, yeah. I'm fine." Molly’s trying to give credible answers while Matt is deposited in the back seat.

"Don’t get me wrong, but you don’t see fine," Mary points out awkwardly. "What happened?"

Molly’s mouth trembles for a second and she runs rubs her hands over her face. She takes a deep breath, trying to become calm and determined.

"Breathe, Molly, come on." Mary’s voice is almost hypnotic.

She does what Mary tells her. She tries to breathe again and again.; Unevenly at first, but with each breath her body regains control.

"Do you know Sherlock?"

"Sherlock?"

"Why are you answering my question with another question?" Molly asks, her voice becomes much stronger. She sounds very angry.

She can’t tell if it's the frustration of the situation, or whether she’s trying to hide something.

Molly looks inquisitively at Mary, and she clears her throat.

"I learned about him at Matt´s football match."

Molly nods and gestures to continue.

"He seems really happy with Sherlock. Since Matt met him, he’s has done nothing but talk about Sherlock," she adds honestly. "He and Grace tried to buy a Dad, and because Matt wanted to stop being teased at school, but that didn’t happen."

Molly looks at him with tear-bright eyes. He’s is a precocious and quite insightful than five -years -old.

Molly clicks her tongue. "If that's all you have to say...”

Mary shook her head. "Sherlock doesn’tknow," She gets stuck with on the other things she wants to say.

"I just wanted to help the child. This situation isn’t his fault, Molly," she adds softly.

She teases. "You’re do not telling me."

"If you want to blame someone," Mary gasps. "Blame it on me."

Molly stares at her.

"Blame me," she repeats. "I didn’t know how to say," her eyes start to tear up. "I want the best for Matt; and if knowing he has someone to call Dad makes him happy, I won’t deny him that." Mary sounds really hurt.

  "I love him too much to see him hurt by an illusion that just beginning to become true. God, Molly! That man loves Matt; he just wants him as well’ -...

Molly cuts off her tirade. Mary shuts up her mouth with an audiblye click.

Molly twists her mouth. "Okay. Now I'm not sure if you're actually apologizing and expressing regret." She replies.

"I really sorry, Molly," Mary says, and that's all she says before the redhead turns away.

But this is a conversation that they needs to have.

 

* * *

 

Sherlock’s head is a mess of thoughts and his heart’s beating to a huge rate when Molly comes back to the school to meet him.

Her gaze can penetrate his soul and destroy it. He is sure. Her face, the one that normally wears a grin and or her sparkling smile is not in a visible place. No. Only her lips pursed together so painfully.

He isn’t ready. Not even close. But he will try to remedy the situation for her, for him, and for the little boy who stole his heart.

He opens his mouth, forming a clever phrase, but stops halfway.

"I don’t want to see you near my son." She declares, and Sherlock feels like his world collapses with those nine words.

"I just wanted to help!" Whispers as his heart begins to crumble, just as he did when seeing her before, seeing her at his side, now without Matt in her arms.

She just stares at him. Oh God! ... It hurt beyond belief that he lied to her so openly. She can feels the blood in her veins becoming turn to frost. It is the pain of betrayal, deception, a vile game of illness that runs through her body.

"I'm not your charity case! You can't just snap your fingers, and get what you want!" Molly yells indignantly.

"Apparently not! If I could, you'd say a simple thank you instead of scolding me like a child!" Sherlock retorts.

And it's that simple phrase, what breaks the context of her rationality.

"I told you about my son, about my life, and for what?" She yells. "Why play with me, and with him in such a sick way, Sherlock? How could you do this?" She exclaims shakily. "You're horrible!" she yells again, with more anger building up inside.

 "Playing with a child, making him believeing another of your vile lies!" She presses her hands tightly together. "How could you? Oh, I hate you!"

She hits him in the chest, and then again and again and again, all the while screaming venting her hatred toward at him, again and again. "I hate you! I hate you! I hate you!"

And for the second time in his life, he feels powerless. He takes absorbs every shot, every word. The hollow look in her eyes just grows and grows.

He's horrible, he's really the worst man she's has never met! He's is selfish and impulsive, and why how could she ever even have thought to have feelings for him? How could she,? Sherlock is a proud person who only cares about himself!.

Tears well up in her eyes and her voice falters further. She will not let them fall. She can't afford to mourn, she can't! Enough tears: simply disappear, she tells herself. She doesn’t need them. But she’s strong enough to fight them.

One of them falls, anyway, sliding down her cheek (traitorous heart, she thinks), and the Sherlock’s expression becomes horrified at the sight of it. His whole face is pale, filtered of any color.

"Molly," he says softly, gently touching all the data from the tears from on her cheeks. "Don't," he asks, wiping her salty tears in from her perfect porcelain skin, "Weep not for me."

Her face crumples, trying to fight all the feelings that strike at her mind,: pain, disappointment, more disappointment, anger. She’s some experience fighting tears in recent years.  But in this case, she doesn’t succeed.

"Let me explain," he begs.

Molly turns back, stomping toward him violently, her whole body vibrating with furious energy, tense, indomitable.

He doesn’t have time to react before Molly's hand swings forward to slap him in the face with such force that it stings.

Sherlock turns to faces her, a red palm print on his cheek, his eyes nearly black with fury.

She pulls her arm back to slap him again, but he catches her wrist, pulling her closer until she is pulled up against caught in his chest.

"I didn't know that Matt was your son. I realized that I care about you... a lot... more than I probably should. I would never play with you, Molly," he stutters, eventually looking away timidly.

"Sure," She says sarcastically. "No doubt, You've been practicing that line since you woke up."

"I just want you, Sherlock Holmes, to stay away from me and my son. I don't want to ever want to see you again. I hate you and I'm wish I’d never thought you could be someone worthy and friendly!".

Molly leaves, slamming the door, and then Sherlock then feels the bullet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TBC...  
> I must say it has been one of the most difficult chapters to write.I hope that will please everyone.  
> You already know what to do.  
> Let me know what you think. Theories?  
> I hope you are with me in this story. There is a fun trip to travel.

**Author's Note:**

> If you take the time to read, please take time to comment.  
> Feel free to let me know what you think. Questions, suggestions, opinions, anything goes.  
> I hope you enjoyed reading this chapter.  
> Kisses and hugs.


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